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No. 50 


25 Cts. 



Copyright, 18S5, 
by H^kpbr k Brothrrs 


January 22, 1886 


Subscription Price 
per Yenr, 53 Numbers, $15 



Entered nt the Post-Office at New York, ns Second-class Mail Matter 


A MAN OF HONOR 


AUTHOR OF “MIGNON; 


a Nodci 



/ i^KJ - ■ 

By J. S.'WINTER 


OR, rootles’ baby ” “ HOUP-LA 

” “in quarters’* etc, 




ILLUSTRATED 


Booh you may hold readily in your hand are the moat usef ul, a fter all 

Dr. Johnson 


NEW YORK 

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1886 


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A MAN OF HONOR. 



AWAY THEY WENT, ALL CLATTER AND 


JINGLE OF SPURS AND SWORD.” 



ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAOB 

“away they went, all clatter and jingle op 


SPURS AND sword” Frontitpiec* 

“HASTINGS LINGERED AT THE WINDOW” 23 

“HASTINGS WAS SYMPATHY ITSELF ” 31 

“HASTINGS AND THE CHAMBERMAID” 43 

“‘I HAVE BEEN TO CALL ON SOME LADIES’”. ... 51 

“HE WAS GETTING ON IN HIS CULTIVATION OP CHIL- 
DREN ” 65 

“ HOW LOVELY SHE LOOKED, WRAPPED TO THE THROAT 

IN DARK VELVET AND PURS!” 73 


“HOW FOND THEY WERE OP EACH OTHER THEN!” . 89 

“SISTER .MYRA SAT BESIDE HIM WITHOUT MOVING, 

LIKE A BLOCK OP WOOD OR A STONE”.* . . . . Ill 




1 


4 





• «« 


^ • 


% • 

• I > . . 

, f 


\ * 





f 1 


w 


. V 

» 

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9 



A MAN OF HONOR.^ 


CHAPTER L 

The 25th Dragoons — the Black Horse — were 
having their first taste of a Warnecliffe summer, and 
found themselves not a little surprised thereby. 

Having come to that most choice and cosey of 
cavalry stations from Aldershot, they imagined, not 
altogether unnaturally perhaps, that they were proof 
against anything further in the way of summer 
weather which the British Isles could produce — and 
they found themselves mistaken, for, as the pretty 
little town proved easily and without the shadow 
of a doubt, Aldershot, for real, genuine, broiling, 
scorching, merciless, pitiless, August heat was simply 

*Tlie author of this story, in selecting this title, was not 
aware of the fact that it had been used by Mr. George Cary 
Eggleston in connection with a work which was duly copy- 
righted and has had a large sale in this country. The title is^ 
here retained with the consent of Mr. Eggleston. 


6 


A MAN OP HONOR 


not in the same street with it — not to be named in 
the same breath. 

After a few days’ experience of it the officers of 
the Black Horse began to retail sundry anecdotes of 
tropical life and climes, which some had known of 
their own knowledge and some knew only by hear- 
say, and opinion was very equally divided as to 
whether the barracks should be renamed Aden or 
Perim, while one or two voters, having rejected 
with scorn The Desert of Sahara, went the length 
of suggesting a certain clime the temperature of 
which is, if mere conjecture goes for anything, more 
sultry and less variable than any of the aforesaid 
quarters of this sphere. 

They felt the heat the more because they were 
hard pressed with work. It happened — and the 
satisfaction they displayed on being made aware of 
it could only be described adequately by the word 
supreme — that they had been lucky enough to escape 
the autumn manoeuvres with nothing worse than 
what they called among themselves “ the grind ” of 
getting ready for inspection a month before the 
usual time. 

But when, as came to pass, the whole “ grind ” of 
working up for inspection — not a light matter by 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


7 


any means — ^had to be done in the face of the fiercest 
sun which any of them had ever known out of the 
tropics — why, their satisfaction was considerably 
damped, or I might, perliaps, more correctly say 
melted. 

Towards the end of the month inspection-day 
came off, and, as Elliot remarked to Lord Archie 
Falconer, “the sun sat up aloft like a great, big, 
blatant, blistering, glittering Koh-in-or in a bed of 
sapphires, and shed, nay, rained^ heat down upon 
them till the helmets which shielded — save the 
mark! — their unfortunate heads seemed red-hot, 
and the heads inside them were fit to burst. 

However, heat or no heat, sunstroke and apoplexy 
notwithstanding, the inspection at last was finished 
and done with. The lunch which followed it was 
eaten, and the gallant and distinguished officer who 
had come for the purpose of inquiring into the 
state and efficiency of the regiment returned to 
town leaving the entire strength in a state of pros- 
tration approaching very nigh to complete collapse. 

It was towards the close of the afternoon, and 
several officers were still to be found in the ante- 
room of the Warnecliffe barracks, in various stages 
of weariness and fatigue, lying half asleep most of 


8 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


them in huge chairs, each and all lacking the amount 
of energy required to accomplish the putting off of 
gorgeous, gold-broidered tunics and spurred boots 
for the cool and easy suit of unostentatious and 
simple tweed. The sleepy silence which prevailed 
was at length broken by the entrance of a mess- 
waiter carrying a tray on which he bore a cup of tea 
and a covered plate, both having the two black 
chargers rampant which, with three Roman numer- 
als and two laurel branches, formed the device of the 
regiment. 

“Tea and muffins,” ejaculated Price to Lord 
Archie; “why, what a sensible chap you are! 
After all that thirsty cup, I believe it’s the best 
thing in the world, — tea. Bring me some, James.” 

“ Yes, sir,” said James. 

“ I’ll have some, too, James,” said Uniacke. 

“ And I,” added Austin. 

As James departed by the mess-room door, 
another officer, also in uniform, just as he had come 
off the field of hardship in the morning, entered by 
the other ; a handsome, sunny-haired, blue-eyed man 
of five or six and twenty, long and stalwart of per- 
son, and with an expression of countenance much as 
he might have had if the end of the world had sud- 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


9 


denly come upon him just at a time when he had an 
important engagement which he was particularly 
anxious to keep. 

“Why, Hastings, old man,” cried Lord Archie, 
who, never very dejected in spirits, had revived 
considerably under the influence of the steaming 
tea, “ whatever is the matter ? You look like Mariana 
in the Moated Grange, or as if the day had not 
agreed with you.” 

“Ho more it has,” grumbled the new-comer, 
discontentedly. “Agreed with me, by Jove! I 
wonder if the news I have just had would have 
agreed better with any of you.” 

“ Why, what is it ?” 

“It’s a draft of horses for the 119th,” Hastings 
returned. “ And Urquhart and I are to have 
the pleasure of carting them up to Idleminster — 
nineteen days’ march at least. ’Pon my word, 
the service is come to something, when two of the 
Black Horse have to go dancing attendance on the 
119th — the hundred — and — nineteenth,” contemp- 
tuously. 

“ I suppose they want the horses for the manoeu- 
vres,” said TJniacke. 

“ Oh, I dare say,” returned Hastings, indifferently. 


10 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


“I’d rather do a nineteen days’ march with a 
draft of horses than the manoeuvres any day,” Lord 
Archie laughed. “Who else did you say was 
going ? TJ rquhart ?” 

“Yes. Urquhart.” 

“ I wish I were in your shoes ! What a pity I am 
not a subaltern now. I would ask the Colonel to 
send me instead.” 

“Well, you’re not a subaltern, unfortunately,” 
Hastings answered crossly, “and I am. And of 
course just after inspection no one but yourself is at 
all likely to wish anything of the kind, so I suppose 
I shall have to give up all my arrangements. A 
subaltern ! I wish you were a subaltern ; but you 
took care to get yourself made into a blatant captain 
as soon as ever you had the chance. Hang it, it’s 
the very devil !” 

“ Of course, work always is,” Lord Archie re- 
sponded promptly. “Inspection was the very 
blackest of devils ; field-days are the devil ; parades, 
too, and mess, if you chance to get near the Colonel. 
If I were you, Alban, I’d cut the service altogether. 
I would indeed.” 

“ Oh, I’m not going to do that ; only I never ex- 
pected this, and just now I particularly wanted — ” 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


11 


“ Oh ! it’s just now, is it ? Ah ! I suspected you 
Iiad some game on that made you loath to leave just 
now,^’’ Lord Archie laughed, “ otherwise you would 
be only too glad to get off on march in such superb 
M’eather.” 

“ Oh, you always scent a fox where a fox has not 
been for ages,” Hastings answered, reddening a 
little under the fire of Lord Archie’s good-natured 
chaff ; chaff, all the same, which had some grains of 
wheat amongst it. “It’s not that at all; but I 
wanted to go to town next week for several reasons 
— see my lawyer and get some clothes — and — and — 
other things.” 

“ Especially other things,” commented Lord 
Archie, amid the laughter of the listeners. “ Well, 
my dear chap, take my word for it, the word of one 
who has had considerable experience in such matters, 
lawyers will keep, and clothes will arrange them- 
selves much more pleasantly just after coming off 
a march than at any other time. As for other things 
— why, wasn’t there a poor devil called Richard, 
who said, ‘ Take care of the pence and the pounds 
will take care of themselves ’ ? ” 

Hastings turned an utterly blank face of stony 
lack of understanding upon his comrade. But a 


13 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


moment later he was aroused by a shout of laughter 
from the other men, when he too laughed, though 
it was an expression of mirth without any mirth in 
it. A few minutes afterwards he betook himself off, 
growling and grumbling as he went. 

Alban,” called Austin after him. 

Hastings turned back. “ Well?” he answered. 

Wlien do you start ?” 

“Nine in the morning,” in a tone of concentrated 
disgust, which caused the laughter to bubble out 
again, and him to close the door with a decision 
which quite prevented any further questions. 

As the laughter died away Lord Archie turned 
to Austin. “ Who is it?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. She lives out a mile or two 
beyond the castle, and she’s awfully pretty,” Austin 
replied. 

“ Ah ! I thought so. Poor old Alban ; what a 
transparent soul it is ! And to go with Urquhart of 
all men, if he is in that frame of mind.” 

“Yes, it is unfortunate,” Price put in, “for 
Urquhart somehow is not calculated to lend himself 
very readily to Alban’s little ways.” 

“ She’s a lady ; rides a lot,” cried Austin, hastily 
“ Alban does not even know her name*” 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


13 


“Oh!” murmured Lord Archie. “Well, poor 
old man, I must say that’s rough on him, for per- 
haps she is only staying here. Ah 1 here is 
Urquhart.” 

As Lord Archie spoke Urquhart entered, as tired 
and hot as his fellows, but looking neither listless 
nor discontented with his lot, even though it in- 
cluded the prospect of a nineteen days’ march in the 
worst heat of summer. 

“ Hello, Urquhart ; heard the news ?” Lord 
Archie cried. 

“ Oh, yes. I’ve just left the Colonel. Have any 
of you seen Hastings ?” 

“ Yes. He has just gone from here. Don’t seem 
to like his prospects either.” 

“ Ho. His face when the Chief called him into 
the office and imparted the news was a study — a 
study ; and I fancy my going does not tend to make 
it any pleasanter to him.” 

“ I dare say not. Staunton would have suited him 
better,” carelessly. 

“ Well, between you and me,” Price remarked, 
“ it must be rather a grind, particularly just after 
inspection.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” Urquhart answered ; “ no 


14 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


more a grind than anything else. After all, what 
isn’t a grind when you come to think of it ? If you 
know a greater grind than the Major — St. Aubyn, 
I mean — when he gets on to those everlasting 
politics — yarn — ^yarn — ^yarn — till you don’t feel sure 
whether Lord Beaconsfield and the People’s William 
were the Siamese twins or the Two-Headed Night- 
ingale — well, commend me to it.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. I almost think the Chief is 
worse when he gets fairly ‘on’ about ‘Wolseley’s 
gang.’ ‘ What is the army now, sir ? A profession 
of arms, straining every nerve to serve her Majesty 
and keep the honor of England unstained? No, 
sir, it has been degraded into a mere vehicle for 
conferring favors where they are not merited ; the 
honor of the army is broke, sir — broke.’ ” 

“ Yes,” said Urquhart, “ but he is easier to follow 
than politics.” 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


15 


CHAPTER 11. 

Away they went, all clatter and jingle of spurs 
and sword, and the trappings of tall black chargers 
— all glitter and dash, and that air of gayety which 
seems to be an indispensable part of the soldier’s 
equipment, although, in very truth, it is oftentimes 
as thoroughly a sham as the paper-soled boots with 
which our volatile brothers of the sword on the 
other side of the silver streak went out from Paris 
in all the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious 
war — d Berlin ‘ and came back — those who were 
not left on the road d Berlin until the crack of 
doom — worn and weary and heart-broken, a brilliant 
nation crushed and trodden to the earth by the hu- 
miliation and defeats which had been brought upon 
them by their own insatiable love of change and 
folly, the folly of spending money in about the pro- 
portion of three francs on decorations to as many 
centimes for shoes — an example which, by the bye, 
we have followed pretty closely lately in sending 
our best and bravest into the heart of the African 


16 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


desert, covered with honors, and never a decent 
sword to protect them. 

If I had but my way I would make but short work 
of the sordid brutes who supplied some of the swords 
which our army carried into that slough of despond 
which we call the Soudan — swords which bent and 
split at a blow. Ah ! if I had but my will, every 
man who made the profit of a single farthing out of 
the hearts’ blood of his own countrymen should find 
himself on the spot stained by the blood of a better 
man than himself, surrounded by hordes of yelling 
blacks, and armed with nothing but his profits. 
While as for those dishonest servants of the Crown 
who passed these make-believe sabres, I would not 
so much as give them the benefit of their bribes to 
help them. I would leave them to the mercy, the 
conscience, and the humanity of the gentlemen 
with the profits. 

But to my story — and may I be pardoned for the 
digression ? When the detachment of the Black 
Horse marched out of Warnecliffe Barracks that 
fair August morning the air of gayety sat on every 
man but one. That one was Alban Hastings, who 
went off with a face like a thunder-cloud just ready 
to burst into a storm. He growled and grumbled 


A MAN OP HONOR. 


17 


as he rode along by Urquhart’s side — at the heat of 
the morning, though it was barely nine o’clock, and 
the sun had scarcely gained power at all; at the 
tightness of his tunic, the weight of his helmet, the 
hardness of his charger’s mouth, the bore of having 
to go on march at that time. At all of which 
Urquhart gave a grunt whenever Hastings paused 
for breath, or to cast about in his mind for a fresh 
cause for growling ; a grunt which might be taken 
as his hearer thought most fit, either as a sign of 
sympathy or as an expression of contempt — con- 
tempt too profound for mere words to convey. As 
Alban Hastings went on growling, and Urquhart did 
not cease from his labors in the grunting line, we may 
readily infer that the dissatisfied young gentleman 
put the former construction upon the proceeding. 

So on they went, that incongruous pair, con- 
demned by the exigencies of duty to pass the next 
nineteen or twenty days in the closest companion- 
ship — two men who had nothing whatever (except 
their duty, which one performed unwillingly, the 
other scrupulously and well from sheer love of the 
minutest details of the gallant profession of arms, 
which at that time was the dearest pursuit on earth 
to him) in common one with another, the one 


18 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


grumbling, and the other grunting, as they rode 
side by side between the green hedgerows under 
the fair sky of that glorious August morning. 

With every yard of ground that his horse’s hoofs 
put between Wariiecliffe and himself Urquhart’s 
spirits grew lighter, and his grunts more inclining 
to laughter ; while, on the other hand, his comrade’s 
face grew darker and darker, and his temper corre- 
spondingly out of gear. And at last they reached 
the little market-town where they were billeted 
that night — a quaint little sleepy bit of a place, 
with wide rambling squares and streets, and great 
old-fashioned inns standing like faded and dreary 
monuments of by-gone days of splendor and pros- 
perity, when His Majesty’s Royal Mail, with its 
smart red wheels and four spanking steppers, was 
wont to draw up with a flourish at the Rose and 
Crown, and stir the whole sleepy population into 
something like life. And then, Briarbush being on 
the high-road between Warnecliffe and London, 
there were five or six other coaches each day beside 
the Royal Mail, and considerable traffic of other 
kinds from the private posting chaises of noblemen 
to carts laden with fish from the nearest point on 
the coast. 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


19 


Well then might the grand old inns, -which had 
lived and had their being out of all this hurrying to 
and fro of beasts and men, sit staring with their 
blank and sightless eyes over the well-nigh deserted 
town with an air of monumental melancholy, while 
the streets which had once been thronged and busy 
were grass-grown and desolate. 

“Bah! what a hole!” ejaculated Hastings with a 
rueful air, as they rode into the market-place. 

There was no lack of life or of activity apparent 
in the population as “ the soldiers” drew up in front 
of the principal hotel, at which the officers were bil- 
leted for the night. They rushed out of their houses 
in a state of the wildest and most frantic excite- 
ment — men, women, and children alike — and as the 
billets were given out, and the men finally dismissed 
to find them, crowded round closer and closer, until 
the horses some of them got a trifie fidgety, and 
Alban Hastings was obliged, as a safety-valve, to 
swear a little under his breath. 

At last, however, the two officers were free to 
dismount and go clanking into the great echoing 
stone hall of the inn, or, as it called itself, the Rose 
and Crown Hotel. 

“ Ugh ! it smells like a grave,” growled Hastings, 
2 


20 


A MAN OP HONOR. 


with a sniff, as he stalked into the best parlor— a 
stately oak-lined apartment, some five-and-thirty 
feet by thirty, with fine blue Delft ware plates and 
vases set here and there, and upon the walls four or 
five rare old prints in black frames, such as sent 
Urquhart straight across the room to look at them 
before he gave the iced cup on the table so much as 
a glance. 

“ It’s mouldy,” asserted Hastings, crossly. 

“ Of course it is ; who ever heard of a Stilton that 
wasn’t ?” answered Urquhart, coolly. 

“ And the claret cup is beastly ; the worst I ever 
drank,” Hastings growled in continuation. 

“All the more for me, then — I’m frightfully 
thirsty,” returned Urquhart, leaving the old engrav- 
ings at last for the lunch. 

“ I wish you joy of it,” glancing crossly over the 
table. “ Cold chickens ! Ugh ! they always give 
one cold chickens in a hole like this. I wonder why 
the devil they sent two of us? You could have done 
just as well without me.” 

“ You know very well why, and I could not have 
done as well, seeing that neither I, nor you, nor any 
other fellow on earth could cut myself in halves at 
Halford and take one draft on to the 151 st, while 


A MAN OF HONOR, 


21 


the other half of the horses go on to Idleminster. 
And let me tell you, if you are going to grumble 
and growl all the way there and back in this style I 
shall promptly seek that girl out when we get back to 
Warnecliffe, and do my level best to spoil any chance 
you may have in that quarter. Not out of revenge 
on your grumbling, mind, but simply to keep the 
poor soul out of your way.” 

“ What girl ?” looking blankly up from the de- 
spised chicken, of which he was disposing as fast as 
circumstances would permit. 

“ Why, that girl at Warnecliffe. You don’t sup- 
pose I’m such an idiot as to believe you’d make such 
a howling row as this if there wasn’t a woman at 
the bottom of it, do you ? Because, if you do, Alban 
Hastings, let me tell you I wasn’t born yesterday 
— no, nor yet the day before. Why, you’ll be in 
love with somebody else before the week is out. I 
know you, my friend — nobody better.” 

Before the week was out ! Aye, before that 
very day had grown much older the attractions of 
the Eve and the paradise which he had left behind 
had very considerably paled in Alban Hastings’s 
memory. 

But to my story. When the two men had 


22 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


finished their lunch, leaving very little of the 
chickens, or anything else upon the table, Urquhart 
drew his chair up to one of the open windows and 
sat down therein to enjoy his pipe. Hastings fol- 
lowed suit, and there they sat in silence until the 
time came for going round the billets. 

When that drew near, two sergeants, one wearing 
the blue of the farrier and the distinguishing horse- 
shoe upon his sleeve, approached the Rose and 
Crown from the opposite side of the market-place. 
Alban Hastings gave a great sigh of disgust. 

“ Ugh ! Here’s Sergeant Anthony and the Far- 
rier Sergeant,” he observed. “ I suppose it’s time 
to go round those beastly billets.” 

Urquhart laughed out aloud. “ Come along, and 
don’t be peevish,” he said. 

Peevish P repeated Hastings in supreme dis- 
gust ; but he pulled himself out of his chair with a 
groan, and settled his forage-cap on his head with 
all his usual care (not a small amount by any means, 
let me tell you), caught up his whip and gloves, and 
followed Urquhart out of the room and down the 
wide and shallow oaken stairs, black with elbow- 
grease and the treading feet of many and many a 
generation. There was a pretty, slender girl, with 



“HASTINGS LINGERED AT T»E WINDOW*” 


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A MAN OP HONOR. 


25 


blue eyes and fair ruffled hair, sitting in the bar, 
whose glass windows overlooked the hall. As 
Hastings caught sight of her he went to the window 
to ask if there were any letters for him. 

“Ho, there were none,” she answered — a fact of 
which he was perfectly well aware before ever ho 
asked the question. 

“ Hor telegrams?” 

The girl shook her head ; no, there were no tele- 
grams either. Urquhart— who was inspecting an 
odd relic in the shape of a horseshoe nailed against 
an ebony shield, in the centre of which was a small 
silver plate, with an inscription which told that 
Cromwell’s horse had cast it at the very door and 
so delayed him in his pursuit of Sir Ealph Eing-‘ 
rose, a famous Eoyalist, who by this lucky accident 
escaped with his life and fled over the seas into 
France, where he married and lived to a good old 
age — lieard it all, and chuckled to think how able 
and willing poor, ill-used Hastings was to come 
smiling up to the scratch, if only a pretty face ap- 
peared at any point of his horizon. 

As there were neither letters nor telegrams, Hast- 
ings lingered at the window to give the most care- 
ful and minute instructions that they should be sent 


26 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


up without the delay of a single moment when any 
did arrive. Oh ! there was no second delivery in 

Briarhush ! That was the d ; at least he begged 

her pardon, but that was a nuisance — distinctly a 
nuisance. He wondered whether, if he went or 
sent to the post-office, he should be able to get 
them ? The young lady within the window did 
not know, but she should think not. She should 
think not; why? Well, because it was improbable 
that any letters would be sent on from Warnecliffe 
until the mail which reached Briarbush at six o’clock 
in the morning. 

And then Hastings, who knew perfectly well that 
his letters would be addressed to the post-office, and 
not to the hotel at all, began a fresh dissertation on 
the likelihood of his being able to obtain his letters 
if he went to the post-office ; but against this Ur- 
quhart’s patience held out no longer, and he strode 
out of the house, whither his comrade was obliged 
to follow him. 


A MAIf OF HONOR. 


27 


CHAPTER III. 

After they had been into most of the town bil- 
lets they had to go along a cool and shady lane, 
at the end of which stood a quaint, single-storied 
inn — a rambling red-brick house smothered in ivy 
and creepers, while roses and honeysuckle clambered 
up the wide porch, and a little sign swung to and 
fro, on which was written, “ The Haymakers’ Rest.” 

Excepting for the sign, the house had no appear- 
ance of being an inn : yet it was so ; and three of the 
dragoons and five chargers were quartered there for 
the night. 

In front of the house, away from the porch, 
where the honeysuckle and the roses grew in such 
wild luxuriance and beauty, there lay a garden — an 
old-fashioned bower of a place, all sweet-smelling 
blossoms and mossy grass, shaded and kept cool by 
half a dozen grand old elms, which must have stood 
where they grew for three hundred years or more. 
Between the garden and the road there was a hedge, 
thick as a wall and si?: feet in height, and in the 


28 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


liedge tliere was a little green gate with an old- 
fashioned latch (what north-country folk call a 
“ sneck”), and over the gate was leaning a girl dressed 
in a plain white-cotton gown — a girl with a fine 
clear skin like a child, satin-smooth brown hair, and 
grave gray eyes which regarded Alban Hastings 
with a look which was straight and true, as uncon- 
cerned and as little moved by his gold lace and his 
jingling spurs as by the eager and open admiration 
which lighted up his face and filled his blue eyes 
so completely that Urquhart’s lips were smiling 
broadly as they turned into the yard, where the 
horses were standing in anticipation of their coming. 

Urquliart was amused to see how small — less than 
usual, which was needless — was the interest which 
Hastings took in the proceedings; how, as his hand 
was passed here and there (with a view to discover- 
ing a tendency to sore backs), and critical glances 
were cast at legs and heels, the blue eyes wandered 
in the direction of the garden, wdiich they could 
not see from the stable-yard ; and, finally, how the 
long legs sauntered off to the gate before the second 
of the five horses had undergone his inspection. 

Now the gate of the stable-yard was like that of 
the garden : it commanded a particularly fine view 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


29 


of the high-road, witli its white dusty surface and 
its ragged fringe of almost equally dusty grass. 
Unfortunately for Hastings, although he could see 
the break in the green line of the tall hedge where 
the little gate was set, he could not see the girl of 
the grave gray eyes and the simple cotton frock. 
Still, every now and then he could get a glimpse of 
the lowest frill of the frock, as she moved her posi- 
tion slightly, and that was something. 

It is a wonderful thing how often little scenes and 
incidents, which in themselves would never have 
power to attract us for a moment, become, through 
and by reason of the interest which they arouse in 
others, the objects of our special attention. It was 
so on that memorable August afternoon with Alban 
Hastings of the Black Horse. Left to himself, he 
would have stood at that gate for a week and never 
have noticed the antics of a group of children at 
play in the road. Hot even though they were fine, 
plump, happy, healthy little specimens of English 
bt)ys and maidens, with finely-rounded sturdy limbs, 
with cheeks like roses and hair like ripened com in 
sunshine, nor even though they might have stepped 
straight out of one of Birket-Foster’s green and 
flowery studies of our English lanes and meadows. 


30 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


No, nor even though they had caught the fever 
consequent on the advent of the soldiers, and were — 
bless their little hearts ! — drilling and marching with 
as much care and earnestness as did ever a Prussian 
recruit under the lindens in sunny Coblentz. They 
quarrelled, of course : what bairns at play do not, 
except they are such little duffers as to have no 
interest in their games ? 

“ Y es, it is — right face — 

“ No — face — face. I tell you I know quite well. 
Face.” And face they presently did with such a 
vengeance that one little toddling four-year-old, as 
eager for action as her fellows, lost her footing, and 
fell heavily — and very much face indeed — to the 
ground. 

Naturally enough a piercing shriek was the first 
result of this proceeding. Then Hastings and the 
gray-eyed girl in the cotton frock ran out from their 
respective posts of observation, and the little sufferer 
was raised between them. 

Between her awe, delight, and surprise at finding 
her hurts attended to by one of the grandest and 
most attractive (from a millinery point of view) of 
the soldiers, her love of the young lady and the pain 
of her bruises, the little Birket-Foster was torn no 


HASTINGS WAS SYMPATHY ITSELF. 









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‘ *A ■:'■ '• * "< 

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V- 



A MAN OF HONOR. 


33 


less than three ways at once. But bruises were 
ordinary and every-day matters when put in com- 
parison with the importance and pleasure of being 
cuddled close up against that military coat with its 
fascinating array of frogs and hanging tabs of braid, 
wliile the handsome fair face with blue eyes was as 
full of concern as if the accident had happened to 
the young lady instead of to the little girl, and the 
young lady at the same time was investigating into 
the full extent of the damage, her strong and tender 
hands tending the poor little bruised bare knees, not 
only bruised, but, alas! cut and bleeding freely. So 
the little maid pulled herself together, and, leaning 
her golden head back against the soldier’s shoulder 
in ineffable contentment, ceased her cries and gave 
herself up to thoroughly enjoying the newness and 
dignity of her situation, only a sob now and then 
catching her breath, or a stray tear trickling down 
her rosy cheek just to remind the world — if the 
bleeding knees below were not sufficient to do so — 
that she had indeed fallen upon very evil times. 

Hastings was sympathy itself: he cuddled her 
close to him, and smoothed the pretty golden head, 
while the young lady in the white frock, having 
gone down upon her knees, gently held her hand- 


34 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


kerchief to the cuts, and gave as many assurances of 
condolence as any little maid on earth could wish 
for. 

“ It was all Johnnie’s fault,” put in another tot, 
a shade bigger but less sturdy than the suiferer in 
Hastings’s arms. “He pushed her; I saw him. 
Johnnie’s always pushing somebody ; he’s such a 
rough boy. He pushed me the other day, and I 
told mother, I did and forthwith, having the usual 
fine sense of honor for which the ordinary feminine 
mind — no matter whether old or young — is dis- 
tinguished, she pointed the finger of scorn and 
identification at the luckless Johnnie — which was 
altogether needless, his own scarlet face telling a 
clearer tale of shame and contrition than the tongue 
of any little sneak in the whole population of Briar- 
bush had power to do. 

But it was a brave and generous little soul that 
lay against Alban Hastings’s heart. She flushed up 
scarlet — as scarlet as Johnnie himself, and from her 
proud haven of safety and repose thrust out a little 
chubby hand which had a woful skin- scrape upon 
its palm, and tucked it into Johnnie’s larger one. 

“ Johnnie didn’t push me; I tumbled off myself,” 
she burst out indignantly ; “ and my mother says 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


35 


you’re a little mean sneak, Jennie Moore ; and so 
you are, always telling tales of somebody.” 

“I b’lieve I did,” began Johnnie, stammering, 
when the little maid caught him up sharply. 

“And if you did, you didn’t go for to do it 
wilful.” 

“ You darling !” broke out the gray-eyed girl. 

“By Jove, but what a plucky little soul!” cried 
Hastings, admiringly. 

“Mother never lets us telltales, Johnnie knows,” 
asserted little Birket-Foster, stoutly, “ not if it wasn’t 
done wilful.” 

“ And I didn’t,” cried Johnnie, earnestly. 

“No, I am sure you did not, Johnnie,” said the 
young lady in reassuring accents. 

“ I wonder if some sweeties would help to mend 
the poor knees,” suggested Hastings, who felt that 
Urqiihart’s inspection in the stable-yard would soon 
be over, and his time therefore getting short. “ Do 
you think they would ?” * 

“ I like sweeties,” said little Birket-Foster. 

“ I’m sure you do,” putting her down upon her 
feet and feeling in his watch-pocket, the only pocket 
he was in the possession of at that moment — a mere 
little make-believe affair hidden away behind the 


86 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


braiding on bis breast. “ Here is a shilling — that’s 
to spend. And here is a half-sovereign — and mind, 
that’s to keep.” 

A moment later the whole tribe had gone flying 
along the road, but not before two very vigorous 
kisses had been left upon Alban Hastings’s lips ; he 
would have been puzzled to tell, I fancy, how, when, 
and where he had ever been kissed by a child be- 
fore. 

“It is a mine of gold to her,” said the white- 
robed girl, with a smile, as she watched the retreat- 
ing troop. “ Half-sovereigns do not fly about 
Briarbush like the sparrows.” 

“Ho, I suppose not,” smiling. “ In most cases it 
would do no good to give it, but that child’s mother 
must be a grand woman to have brought her chil- 
dren up with such pluck and honor as that.” 

“ I believe she is. She is the head-keeper’s wife 
— Lord CliflPe’s keeper, you know. They live at the 
cottage in the lane, and I think she was maid to 
Lady Cliffe ; her foster-sister too.” 

“Oh!” murmured Hastings with much apparent 
interest. 

“ She takes great care of her children. She has 
only those two,” the young lady went on, as she 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


37 


edged away from the scene of the disaster towards 
the little green gate. 

“ They do her great credit,” returned Hastings 
with an air of being quite up in the subject. 

“ Oh yes, they are good little souls. My mother 
often has. them to do models for her.” 

Hastings pricked up his ears. “ To do model ” 
meant the following of some artistic pursuit, and he 
had been puzzled to discover who and what this 
ministering angel with the grave eyes and the satin- 
smooth hair might happen to be. 

“ Then you do not belong to — ” he began ; then 
stopped short, aware all at once that the remark 
was bordering on the impertinent. 

A faint smile curled the girl’s lips. “My mother 
is not the mistress of the Haymakers’ Rest,” she said, 
a gleam of fun shining in her grave gray eyes. “ Oh 
no ; we are only lodging here for the summer. It is 
a very quiet house, and they cook better than the 
farm-people.” 

“ And your — at least, Mrs. — er— er — is an artist ?” 
he asked. 

“ Yes. I dare say you know her name — Mrs. 
Dane.” 

Hastings’s face flushed up with pleasure. “ Mrs. 


38 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


Dane — and in Briarbusli ? Oh ! may I not call on 
her before we leave ? I should so like to make her 
acquaintance.” 

“I am sure my mother will be most happy,” 
Miss Dane replied, and yet ; courteous as the answer 
was, there was that about it which altogether pre- 
vented him from feeling the least little bit flattered 
by the permission. 

“Will you come in now?” she asked, as she 
pushed the gate open. 

“Thanks, many — not just now. I am,” wdth a 
long shrug of his shoulders, “on duty; but in an 
hour or so, if you will allow me, I shall be delighted.” 

“ Oh yes, certainly. And who shall I — ” 

“ Hastings — my name is Hastings — Alban Hast- 
ings, of the 25th Dragoons,” with a hurried salute. 

“Then good-by for the present,” with a dignifled 
yet gracious bend of her slender throat. 

As she spoke Urquhart came out of the stable- 
yard, followed by the two sergeants. Hastings 
once more saluted Miss Dane, who retreated behind 
the shelter of the thick hedge, though not before 
Urquhart had had time to get a good look at her. 

If it had not been for the knowledge that she was 
in the garden, Urquhart could have laughed out 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


39 


aloud to see the change which within the last half- 
hour had come upon his comrade’s face. Where 
then had lowered the blackest and most sullen of 
thunder-clouds now was naught but sunshine, as 
radiant as that in the heaven above them ; all the 
growling, grumbling discontent had departed out of 
his voice, and in its place had come a cheery hearti- 
ness, which proved to the man who knew him infi- 
nitely better than he knew himself that the Eve and 
the paradise which lay behind had faded and paled 
into insignificance before the charms of the Eve who 
abode at the Haymakers’ Eest. TJrquhart, who 
thought she was the very superior daughter of an 
evidently well-kept and quiet house, felt not a little 
contemptuous at a fancy so lightly and so easily 
swayed by all winds — a fancy veering from north to 
south, from east to west, at the will of any magnet 
which took the shape of a woman’s eyes. It was 
pretty nearly all one to Mr. Alban Hastings of the 
Black Horse, tbe they brown or blue, hazel or gray, 
dark or light, grave or gay, sad or coy. 

“ It is a beastly little hole,” Hrquhart remarked, 
with as good an imitation of the other’s morning 
growl as he could attain. 

But Hastings did not see it. “ Oh ! I don’t 
3 


40 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


know,” he answered. “It’s a decent little place 
enough, and I fancy the fishing hereabouts is su- 
perb : it ought to be with that weir across the river. 
I think, when we get back to Warnecliffe, I shall write 
to Lord Cliffe and tell him I’d like to try his waters.” 

Urquhart smothered his laughter, though he 
nearly choked in the attempt, and Hastings chatted 
affably on. 

“ It’s such a quaint little place, too — just what I 
should have thought you would like, Urquhart,” re- 
proachfully. “I shouldn’t at all wonder, if you 
went prowling about the cottages a little, if you 
wouldn’t pick up heaps of those old mugs and cup- 
boards and things you set such great store by.” 

“ I might begin with the Haymakers’ Rest,” sug- 
gested Urquhart; then added, seeing that Hastings’s 
face grew as black as death instantly, “ for it looks 
to me as if it might have stood there since the 
Deluge.” 

“ Oh, I don’t think it’s a particularly old place,” 
answered Hastings, with a delicious air of indiffer- 
ence, such as sent Urquhart off into the Rose and 
Crown a good deal more quickly than he would 
have done had Hastings come back as he set out — ^in 
the sulks. 


A MAK OF HONOR. 


41 


CHAPTER IV. 

When he reached the best parlor of the Rose and 
Crown Urquhart rang the bell. 

•‘Bring me a glass of brown sherry, John, and 
some paper and pens and ink. What time does the 
post go out ?” 

“Eight o’clock, sir,” John replied. 

As the waiter went out Hastings strolled in. He 
had on entering the hotel sauntered straight (on the 
magnetic principle again, doubtless) to the window 
o’f the bar ; but, unfortunately, the pretty, fair-faced 
girl, with her soft eyes and blonde ruffled hair, was 
Twn est, having in truth gone to her tea in the land- 
lady’s parlor, and as her place for the time was filled 
by the master of the house — an enormously rotund, 
rubicund creature, good-humored and lazy, the very 
type of a Boniface, perfect from an artist’s point of 
view, but not of the magnetic order of being (to 
Hastings, at least) — that young gentleman had very 
speedily brought his remarks concerning his letters 
and the weather to a close, and took his lonely and 


42 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


disappointed way in the direction of the best parlor, 
encountering as he went a figure in a lilac printed 
gown and a neat white cap, whom he took to be the 
chambermaid. 

Nor was he wrong. As he approached she 
stepped aside, in order to make way for him, into a 
deep window recess. Hastings, not perhaps wishing 
to take the carpet-way of a lady, stepped aside 
likewise, and was preparing to dispute the point, 
when to his horror he discovered that, instead of 
the plump and comely little body he had naturally 
expected to find in the chambermaid of such an 
hotel as the Rose and Crown, this was an aged 
maiden of skinny person and vinegarish aspect. 
Hustings doubled like a hare, without waiting to dis- 
pute right of way any further ; he took it without 
compunction or hesitation, feeling very much as if 
“that beggar Orford” had slipped the back-door 
key of the oflBcers’ quarters (about nine inches long) 
down the back of his neck. 

“What are you going to do, Urquhart?” he asked, 
standing with his back to the empty fireplace, and 
wishing that there could be a roaring fire there for 
ten minutes or so, just to take that cold chill off his 
spine. 


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A MAN OF HONOR. 


45 


“I’ve got some letters to write, and then I shall 
go just down the street. I want one or two things 
I forgot yesterday.” 

“ Oh ! Well, I think I shall go and look round 
the place now. See you again, old fellow — by-by.” 

Boniface was still in possession of the bar when 
Hastings reached the hall again, so he did not linger 
there, but set off for the Haymakers’ Rest without 
further delay. 

He found Mrs. Dane and her daughter in posses- 
sion, as he and Urquhart were at the Rose and 
Crown, of the best parlor, but the two rooms had 
not many features in common. Instead of gloomy 
black oak and dark old prints this room was clad in 
chintz, and had roses meandering up and down the 
walls, while real ones looked in at the open windows 
and nodded their perfumed heads at their counter- 
feit fellows, as much as to say, “ Why do you stand 
so still, sister roses ? Why do you grow in there, 
where there is nothing but shadow? Why don’t 
you come out with us and dance in the sunshine ?” 
But it was no use ; there the poor sham roses re- 
mained on the wall : they danced not in the sun- 
shine, nor swayed in the breezes. They never shed 
their petals, nor gave out sweet fragrant scents to 


46 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


perfume the air. Ko, they only sat there on the 
wall and gazed blankly at nothing, with no change 
from day to day or from month to month, except 
that they lost their complexions and grew, from 
being more bright and gaudy than the real flowers 
out in the sunshine, to faded old-maids who might 
even some day sink into a green and yellow melan- 
choly. 

Hastings felt, as he disposed of himself in a great 
chintz-covered chair a few feet from Mrs. Dane’s 
sofa, that it might not be artistic, no, nor yet 
fashionable, to really like and feel cheered by a walk 
paper which was strewed all over with very red and 
very yellow roses, having very green leaves on a 
painfully staring white ground ; yet, after the mouldy 
oak and dark leather of the best parlor at the Rose 
and Crown, he was both cheered and refreshed by it. 

He didn’t know that he cared very much about 
being fashionable in his likes and dislikes; and 
surely, if Mrs. Dane, with her artist’s eyes and her 
doubtless equally fine artist’s feelings, could spend 
lier days there without apparently being much the 
worse for it, he, Alban Hastings, who knew as much 
about arf as he did about needlework, need not be 
upset by spending a single hour — more than that he 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


47 


could not and did not hope to have the chance of 
doing. 

He certainly made the very most of his time : 
he gathered that Mrs. Dane was the widow of a 
physician, that she was in delicate health, and had 
no children, except the daughter whose acquaintance 
he had made that afternoon. 

He gathered also that the air of Briarbush was 
particularly well suited to her during the summer 
months, which was why she and her daughter 
buried themselves in the dull little place ; that they 
had tried lodgings at a farmhouse and at the Eose 
and Crown, but were more comfortable at the Hay- 
makers’ Rest than anywhere; and then, having 
guardedly fished for permission to come over occa- 
sionally on his return to Warnecliffe, and received 
an invitation to come for an hour after dinner that 
evening if he chose, Mr. Alban Hastings betook 
himself away, with many expressions of thankfulness 
and delight at the circumstances which had combined 
to admit him into such charming company. 

Her name was Una — Una Dane ! 

He had never thought before, not once during 
all the years of his service — eight of them — that 
Urquhart was commonplace. Yet when he went 


48 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


into “ the grave” at the Rose and Crown, wliere 
Urquhart was enjoying the calm repose of life with 
a newspaper and a pipe, and asked if he’d been 
after that girl again, he not only thought him com- 
monplace, but even a shade worse. 

“ That girl,” indeed ! As if she were a keeper’s 
daughter or a maidservant ; and then he all at once 
remembered that of course Urquhart hadn’t the 
least idea who Miss Dane was — why, perhaps he 
even had been stupid enough to imagine she be- 
longed to the Haymakers’ Rest. Hastings foi’got 
altogether, in the fume of indignation which took 
possession of him at the mere thought of such a 
thing, that he had himself put Miss Dane upon the 
very self-same level until she had informed him to 
the contrary. But like many another, he thought 
his comrade most intolerably stupid to be ignorant 
of what he had only just learned. 

He little thought that news of his charmer was 
already on the way back to Warnecliffe, yet such 
W’as the truth. Urquhart’s letters had included 
among them one to Lord Archie Falconer, and that 
letter contained these remarks : 

“ By the bye, Hastings, after sulking furiously 
with fate and me all the way here, found consolation 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


49 


this afternoon in the person of one of the loveliest 
girls I think I ever saw. She lives at an old-fash- 
ioned inn, called the Haymakers’ Rest ; is, I sup- 
pose, a daughter of the house ; certainly does not 
look like the barmaid, or, for the matter of that, 
like an innkeeper’s daughter. She is about the 
middle-size, well made and set up, has shining 
smooth brown hair, and great gray eyes that are 
very calm and steadfast-looking. I think the rest 
of her face is lovely, but can only speak positively 
as to the eyes. Hastings managed to scrape ac- 
quaintance whilst I was looking at the horses in the 
stable-yard. She was in the garden at the side of 
the house. He has gone up there again. What a 
beggar he is !” 

If Hastings had known that such a description of 
his new divinity had gone back to Warnecliffe he 
would have been almost fit to stop the mail-cart 
that night and get possession of the letter, but he 
did not, as it happened. He had not the least idea 
of it, and so the red-wheeled mail-cart went its ac- 
customed journey from the little town to the station 
two miles away ; and not only did it contain the 
letter I have mentioned, but also another from the 
same source to the same person — but of that I will 


50 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


speak when I come to it in the natural course of 
events. 

“I have been,” Hastings said, in reply to TJr- 
quhart’s remark about “ that girl,” “ to call on some 
ladies.” 

The air of dignified reproof with which this was 
given made the other laugh outright ; it was so irre- 
sistibly funny to be reproved in that dignified and 
stately manner by Alban Hastings. 

“ You don’t say so ! Was she one of them ?” 

“ She was.” 

“ And the other ?” 

“ Her mother ! Who else should she be ?” rather 
sharply. 

“ I didn’t know. I never make calls on innkeep- 
ers’ ladies,” carelessly. 

Hastings’s indignation blazed out in a moment. 

“ She is not an innkeeper’s daughter. Her mother 
is Mrs. Dane, the artist. I have been calling on 
Mrs. Dane this afternoon.” 

Urquhart’s surprise vented itself in the form of a 
prolonged whistle. 

“By Jove, you don’t say so ! Then how in the 
world did you come to know her ? Did you know 
them before ?” 



HATE BEEN TO CALL ON SOME LADIES !’ ” 



A MAN OF HONOR. 


53 


Forthwith Hastings let out the entire story — how 
the children had been playing at soldiers on the road 
in front of the inn-garden, how little “Birkett- 
Foster” had fallen and considerably smashed her- 
self, how — 

“ And you’re going up there again this evening ?” 
Urquhart asked in surprise. 

Hastings nodded. “ Yes !” he said, with an ac- 
cent of importance which struck his comrade as the 
funniest thing he had met with for a long time. 

“ And you never asked them to let me go too—” 

“You?” looking up wdth a quick frown as if 
Urquhart had positively declared himself as. having 
designs matrimonial on his heroine of the Hay- 
makers’ Rest. 

• “ Yes. Am I not alone, a stranger and a pilgrim 
in the land of Briarbush, even as yourself? Do I 
not enjoy cultivated and intellectual society as much, ** 
if not a very great deal better, than you do ? Would 
not any one but yourself have thought of a poor 
forlorn wretch left mouldering by himself in this 
great barn of a room, which an hour or two ago you 
appropriately named the ‘grave,’ and not have gayly 
accepted, probably even fished for, an invitation 
without putting in even one good word for him ?” 


64 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


“ If I had thought you would have cared about 
it,” Hastings began, when Urquhart broke in with 
a laugh. 

“ I suppose you were afraid of my being smitten 
by the lady’s grave gray eyes. Bless you, my dear 
boy, you needn’t have been alarmed. I,” with a 
quick sigh, “ finished with all that sort of thing 
years and years ago. Well,” rising and moving to 
the table, “ for your own sake I wonder you did not 
try to do me a good turn ; if I had gone I should 
have talked to mamma and kept her pleased with 
herself, whilst you v’ould have been free to improve 
the shining hour with mademoiselle. As it is, 
mamma must not be neglected ; therefore the shin- 
ing hour will have to go to the wall. You have 
overreached yourself this time, my friend, no mis- 
take about it.” 

Hastings looked as if such were indeed the truth,, 
and he knew it. “ Shall I send up a note and ask 
permission to take you ?” he asked eagerly. 

Urquhart laid back in his chair, and laughed till 
the tears actually rolled down his face. 

“ Shall I ?” Hastings repeated impatiently. 

. “Not quite,” the other answered. “ I don’t think 
I was born an utter fool, and my good-nature does. 


A MAN OF HONOR 


55 


not feel inclined to carry me quite so far as that. 
Besides, I thoroughly believe in the truth of the 
saw: 

“‘He that will not when he may, 

When he will he shall have nay.’ ” 

Hastings looked disgusted, but said no more, and 
as soon as dinner was over went off to the Hay- 
makers’ Rest, where, as Urquhart had predicted, he 
was obliged to devote himself almost entirely to 
Mrs. Dane, while her daughter sat comparatively 
silent, apparently engrossed by her occupation of 
copying a flounce of old point-lace. 

And at home — that is to say, in the best parlor of 
the Rose and Crown — Urquhart was writing hia 
second letter to Lord Archie Falconer. 

“ I made a mistake about her,” he said. “ She ia 
not the innkeeper’s daughter, nor even his barmaid, 
but is staying — lodging that is — in the house for the 
summer months with her mother. Her mother is 
Mrs. Dane, the artist. Pooi- old Hastings managed 
to get himself invited up there this evening, and 
never mentioned my existence at all. I suppose he 
thought I should be making eyes at her. True, she 
is lovely enough for any man to make eyes at, but 


56 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


Tom Urquliart is far too old and battered for that 
kind of thing.” 

He read the letter over with an air of satisfaction 
ere he put it in its envelope. 

“ There. I think that will lay the train nicely. 
I wonder if old Archie will rise to it? He’ll get it 
some time to-morrow. I shouldn’t at all wonder if 
that useful sketch-book of his does not dine to-mor- 
row evening at the Haymakers’ Rest.” 

Hovvever, he had for the present no means of tell- 
ing whether Lord Archie would or would not rise 
to the bait which he had so skilfully displayed be- 
fore him ; when the morning came, the old parting 
scene was acted once again, and off went the de- 
tachment of the Black Horse from the little town of 
Briarbush, all dash and clatter and jingle, over the 
hills and far away, just the same as they always go, 
whether to peace or war, except that this time there 
was no accompaniment of martial music, with its 
cheery strains — “ The girl I leave behind me.” 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


67 


CHAPTER V. 

The only information that Urqnhart had concern- 
ing his bait to Lord Archie was that in the first letter 
he received from him whilst he was on that march 
it was mentioned, not actually in the letter, but in 
a postscript. After many details concerning Ur- 
quhart’s horses, and more about a certain polo-match 
between the regiment and the gentlemen of the 
county, in which the former had come off with an 
easy victory, he said : “ By the bye, I have been over 
to Briarbrush. She certainly is very lovely.” 

In replying Urquhart made no comment. He did 
not think it necessary, once the train was properly 
laid, nor in subsequent letters did Lord Archie revert 
to the subject ; therefore it was dropped. 

Yet the very first afternoon that they were back 
in Warnecliffe, when Hastings got on a horse and 
slipped over to Briarbush, to his unutterable dismay 
and ineffable disgust, he found Miss Dane sitting 
under the shade of a big elm in the garden of the 
inn, the artist-mother nowhere to be seen, and Archie 


58 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


Falconer, if you please, stretched at full length upon 
the grass beside her, while the river ran swift and 
deep at their feet, until it came to the weir just at 
the other side of the meadow, over which it dashed, 
scattering itself into a myriad twinkling and snowy 
flecks of light and foam. His face, when he beheld 
the man in possession, was really and truly a study. 

“ Why, Archie,” he exclaimed, “ how came you 
here?” 

“ I rode,” answered Lord Archie, with sweet sim- 
plicity. “You don’t mean to say you walked ?” 

It was an old and threadbare joke, but it served 
its purpose well. 

“ I didn’t mean that at all,” Hastings said stiffly. 

“Eh?” murmured the other. “I don’t under- 
stand.” 

“Never mind; it’s not worth repeating,” re- 
turned Hastings, in a white heat of fury. 

Nor, as the minutes went by, did he begin to 
feel any better about it, for presently Lord Archie, 
appealing to Miss Dane about something, said : 
“ Don’t you think so, Una ?” And she, looking up 
from her delicate and fllmy work with a smile, 
answered : “You know very well, Archie, that I do 
not.” 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


59 


Hastings was simply speechless. Tina and Archie ! 
Good heavens ! how had Archie contrived to make 
such good nse of the last twenty days, that already 
they should be on such terras of intimacy ? How 
had he found her out ? Had he serious intentions 
towards her ? If so, Alban Hastings felt it was all 
up with him. 

However, when he and Lord Archie were riding 
quietly home together, he, in a measure, solved the 
mystery, for Lord Archie told him simply and 
frankly enough that he and Una Dane had been 
playfellows in the days of their childhood, that their 
mothers had been girls together, but that he and 
Una had never met from the time he was a big lad 
at Eton, and she a little girl just beginning to learn 
sedateness under the care of a governess. 

Now this so thoroughly relieved his mind that he 
even shut his eyes to the possibility of Lord Archie’s 
being in love with the artist’s daughter, which he 
.very really and truly was. 

His mind thus relieved, he began to recall how Una 
liad looked ; to remind himself that she had flushed 
all over her pretty pale face when she perceived 
him coming over the grass towards her ; that she hnd 
cast a pained glance at him when he spoke so stitfly 


60 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


to Archie ; that she had told him almost reproach- 
fully that he had never asked after little Birket- 
Foster and her broken knees, although the child had 
not once been to see “ Miss Una” without asking 
eagerly after him. 

“What brutes jealousy does make of ns!” said 
Hastings to himself, with a sharp twinge of com- 
punction, and forthwith went off to town tlie follow- 
ing morning instead of taking his usual ride, and 
bought a great heap of toys,— dolls and puzzles and 
games, with the addition of a rocking-horse for the 
boy and a box of carpenter’s tools, — which he ordered 
to be sent to Miss Dane, at the Haymakers’ Rest, 
Briarbush. 

They had not arrived when he reached the Rest 
that afternoon with a paper in his pocket, which he 
had promised to take for the artist, but they came 
just as they were sipping tea in the cheerful room 
with the roses in effigy languishing upon the walls. 
It was worth any amount of trouble to see the 
pleasure and delight shining in Miss Dane’s great 
gray eyes as she turned the box out and pictured 
the joy his presents would give to the keeper’s chil- 
dren. 

“ Just think, mother— a doll as large as little B.-F. 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


61 


herself I Yes, we always call her B.-F. now,” to 
Hastings. “Slie is so like the pictures. I shall 
have to make a whole set of garments for it. Old- 
fashioned to sew ? Yes, perhaps ; but I love my 
needle. I dare say it is old-fashioned, but I love to 
see fine lace and little garments growing from under 
my fingers quite as much, I think, as my mother 
loves her art. Oh, what a lovely necklace !” as a 
string of pretty blue beads came to light ; “ won’t 
little B.-F. love you ! How good you are !” 

“ I didn’t know what to get, you see,” Hastings 
answered modestly. “ I have not had much expe- 
rience in satisfying the likes and dislikes of children. 
I remember when I was a boy myself I cared for 
nothing in the world but my pony and — and — one 
or two little playfellows.” 

He hesitated a moment, and deftly changed the 
end of the sentence, for somehow he could not tell 
her, as he had been going to do, that the favorite 
plaything of his boyish days had been the gardener’s 
daughter at home. The name of the gardener’s 
daughter seemed to stick in his throat. It happens 
so sometimes that we do not care to tell about the 
by-gone days ; but oh, how fond of her he was when 
they were tiny, wee toddling bairns together, like 


63 


A MAN OF HONOR. ' 


little B.-F. and the luckless Johnnie — like, and yOt 
not like, brother and sister 1 

He was sure he had never given her a thought 
for the last five years — not one ; and yet the memory 
of her as he last saw her kept rising up now and 
coming between his eyes and Una Dane’s beautiful 
fair face. 

What a pretty little child Bessie was— very like 
the child whom Una spoke of as little B.-F. ! He 
remembered now how eagerly he had been accus- 
tomed to look forward to his holidays, not because 
he was going home, but because Bessie, with her 
sunny face and blue shining eyes, would be waiting 
for him when he went down to the gardener’s cot- 
tage, anxious to catch the first glimpse of him, to 
hear all his doings, to gloat over his prizes and his 
deeds of prowess in flood and field — not, you may 
be sure, made any the less brilliant in tint because 
they were painted by himself. 

And then — he had left the Rest by this time, 
and was riding slowly back to barracks — when they 
grew older and school was over and done with, 
when he had gone to Sandhurst and she had been 
taken into his father’s house to be trained under 


A MAN OF nONOR. 


63 


his mother’s maid, when she had grown fifty times 
prettier and more “ fetching” with that new glad 
light on her pretty delicate face — a face which had 
none of the strong lines and calm self-possession 
about it which were the chief characteristics of 
Una Dane’s countenance — and the shy rapture in 
the pretty blue eyes, and then, why, he (fidn’t much 
care to think about his old playfellow after that 
time — while to remember the scenes which fol- 
lowed some two years later made him feel sick and 
chill, and caused him to shiver and shudder as he 
rode along through the gorgeous beauty of the 
September sunset. 

However, as he reached the outskirts of the town 
he straightened himself in his saddle, and shook his 
shoulders with a resolute determination to think no 
more about a past which, whatever it had been, 
could not now be undone, the consequences of 
which, however disastrous they might have been to 
himself or even to others, could not now be averted. 
The past was past — no thought, no remembrances, 
no atonement, could alter it. What was done was 
done, and what had gone by had gone by ; and after 
all, that was, he told himseK, a very reasonable and 


64 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


sensible poet who said — what did he saj now? 
Something or other. Oh — 

“Let the de<ad past bury its dead ; 

Act, act in the living present. 

Heart within — ” 

Oh, well, after all, he didn’t know if a heart 
wasn’t often a nuisance — decidedly a nuisance, if 
all the hearts with which one had ever had touch 
were to be allowed to come crowding and worrying 
after one like a train of pallid, reproachful ghosts at 
the heels of one’s memory. Yes, decidedly and dis- 
tinctly a nuisance. 

Therefore, having come to this conclusion, Hast- 
ings resolutely, and with success, shook off the 
memories of the past and set himself only to the 
pursuit of winning what he most wished in the 
present — that was Una Dane. 

In furtherance of this end and aim he spent as 
much of the bright autumn days which followed a^ 
the inn with the sign of the Haymakers’ Rest as 
the restrictions of etiquette and the calls of duty 
would permit. 

And what a fine time little B.-F. had of it ! 
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A MAN OF HONOR. 


67 


into the little chubby hands and into the white 
pinafores that kept little B.-F.’s frocks clean ! 

And by and by that knowing young person grew 
not to be satisfied with waiting and watching at the 
gate of the Haymakers’ Rest ; but she and Johnnie 
began to venture right down the road leading to 
the town, so that when Mr. Hastings appeared, 
whether on horseback or in his dog-cart, little B.-F. 
was tolerably sure of a lift back again. Really and 
truly he was getting on in his cultivation of chil- 
dren in detail. As he had said to Una Dane, on 
that first day after the march was over, he had not 
had much experience in gratifying the likes and 
dislikes of children. 

Still, he was getting on. The officers of the 
Black Horse would have been pretty well astonished 
if they could have seen him riding gayly along the 
road between Briarbush and the Haymakers’ Rest, 
with little B.-F. on the saddle in front of him, and 
young J ohnnie trotting ^ongside ! And there were 
two handsome daughters of the house of Hastings, 
well married, both of them, and blest, among the 
good things of this world, with a fair share of olive 
branches, who would, indeed, have opened their 
blue and lustrous eyes in wonder and amazement if 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


they could have seen their brother Alban in this new 
light. Alban, who hum’d and haw’d when called 
upon to admire one of their babies, and was wont to 
admit vaguely when fairly driven into[a comer that, 
“ Well, ya-as, perhaps it is getting a little more hu- 
man.” Alban, who, when the babies were grown 
larger, was accustomed to remark to the world gen- 
erally and at large that children were a horrid nui- 
sance, and ought to be farmed out until they had 
done growing. Alban, of whom there was a legend 
afloat that once upon a time, being particularly anx- 
ious to be civil to one of his sisters he took her eldest 
girl (aged six) upon his knee and gayly, if very 
awkwardly, jigged her up and down, chanting the 
while a kind of refrain, 

“ Kitch-y, Kitch-y, Kitch-y, nice little girl ! 
Kitch-y, Kitch-y, Kitch-y, nice little girl !” when 
suddenly “ Kitch-y-Kitch-y” created a sensation, and 
elicited a roar of laughter from the large company 
assembled, by appealing to her mother in an affected 
little drawl, quite her own, “ Moth-aw ! Moth-aw ! 
Is he silly?” 

But that was long, long ago, in the by-gone days 
when lovemaking was not a matter of such serious 
moment as it had come to be with him since he first 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


69 


saw Una Dane leaning over the little green gate, 
watching the Briarbush children at their game of 
soldiers. 

He did not find it as easy a matter to win Una 
Dane as he had done with little B.-F. Of course 
she could not be bribed with pretty gifts and kindly 
notice, and, moreover, there was something so seri- 
ous, so grave about her — a something which effectu- 
ally prevented him from making the single step be- 
tween friendliness and familiarity which hitherto he 
had invariably found so easy. The two ladies had 
equally, almost from the very first, given him the 
footing of an intimate friend, and had made him 
free of the little rose-wreathed parlor, but with Una 
he could, by hook or by crook, get no further. He 
hardly understood her: she was too grave to be 
coquettish, too self-possessed to be coy ; he was sure 
she liked him, sure he was always the most welcome 
visitor they had in their retreat ; she did not stand 
aloof, and yet there was that in her manner which 
would not allow him to approach too near. 

Perhaps it was because he had been all his life 
accustomed to easy conquests — if conquests they 
could be called, where the victims came and laid 
their willing necks under his feet, happy even to be 


70 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


trampled by them ; so when the woman he prized 
most in all the world, instead of yielding to the fas- 
cinations of his voice and eyes, and grovelling before 
him, stood upright in the calm dignity of a fine na- 
ture which could not grovel, and would only yield 
to some greater conqueror than mere fascination, a 
barrier was raised which to him was the most diffi- 
cult in all the world to break down. 

Nor, whilst they remained in retreat at Briarbush, 
did he succeed in doing so, and when the end of an 
exceptionally fine October drew nigh, the rose-par- 
lor was deserted, and the Haymakers’ Rest knew 
them no more. 

It was wonderful how blank and dreary the 
whole neighborhood seemed to Hastings when they 
had gone. In vain did the little B.-F. and the 
luckless Johnnie go pattering down the road to 
meet the good fairy with the cheery laugh and the 
blue eyes ; in vain, for he came not ; all in vain that 
they lingered and loitered till little feet were sod- 
den and soaked with November’s damp, and the 
careful mother had first to turn doctor and then to 
forbid any more such pilgrimages. 

Twice Johnnie, being stouter and sturdier of 
build, was sent that the little maid might be satis- 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


71 


fied; but Jobnnie came back with only a shake of 
his blond head — the gentleman had not come. 

“ Kay, my bonnie bird, don’t fret about it,” the 
mother cried, seeing the tears of disappointment 
standing in the blue eyes ; “ the gentleman came to 
see the young lady, you know.” 

“He never did bring Miss Una no presents,” 
sobbed the little B.-F. rebelliously. 

“ Ah ! but he brought them for Miss Una all the 
same,” the wise mother answered, drawing the 
pretty golden head close to her bosom. 

“ He brought them for Tne^'' cried little B.-F. in- 
dignantly. 

The keeper’s wife smiled, but did not contradict 
her. She was a wise woman — she knew her world 
well. 


72 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Before Mrs. Dane and her daughter returned to 
town Mrs. Dane gave their address to Hastings, 
telling him in polite and genial terms that she 
should he very glad to see him at any time that he 
happened to be in London, and also that she was at 
home formally on the first Wednesday of every 
month, and to her friends almost invariably on 
Sunday. 

Hastings, however, only once had an opportunity 
of availing himself of the invitation during the first 
two months after the Danes turned their backs 
upon the Haymakers’ Rest, as he found himself 
obliged to take his long leave after instead of be- 
fore Christmas. But he had a two days’ leave early 
in November, and hied him straight unto the 
pretty house in South Kensington where the Danes 
lived. It was not a Sabbath, nor yet the first 
Wednesday of the month, and he fairly shook in 
his shoes lest the reply to his inquiry should be, 
“ Not at home.” 



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A MAN OP HONOR. 


75 


He found that he need not have shaken, for Mrs. 
Dane was at home, and he was shown into her 
presence, and was welcomed warmly. 

“ Una is not at home,” she told him, seeing per- 
haps that he glanced round the room in an inquir- 
ing fashion. “ She has gone down to Putney to 
see a great friend of hers, who is ill. But I don’t 
think she’ll be long, so pray let me hear all the 
Briarbush news at once.” 

“ I’m afraid I haven’t any Briarbush news, Mrs. 
Dane,” he answered, reddening a little ; “ I have 
not — been there — very lately.” 

“ Not even to see little B.-F. ?” Mrs. Dane asked, 
with a quizzical look. 

“ Er — no — I — ” 

“ Oh !” put in the artist, pitying his confusion. 
“ I dare say you’ve been very busy. Officers always 
have so much to do.” 

“ Yes, we have been busy,” he said, quickly catch- 
ing gladly at the excuse, and perfectly unaware that 
Mrs. Dane knew almost as much about the likelihood 
of there being a press of work during the leave- 
season as he did himself. 

But in this case, ignorance being bliss, Hastings 
chatted gayly on, until by and by Una came. Oh ! 


76 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


how lovely she looked, wrapped to the throat in 
dark velvet and furs, until her pale face shone out 
clear as a cameo against its dark background. She 
was smiling, too, and her mother, seeing the smile, 
said, “ What is it, Una ?” and waited for her to 
speak, smiling broadly herself in anticipation of 
something good to come. 

“It was a joke,” Una answered. “You know,” 
turning to Hastings, “ I have been down to Putney. 
I came back as I went — by the ’bus ; and on getting 
into the ’bus found the occupants of that humble 
vehicle were two overdressed young damsels armed 
with all the war-paint of tennis. “ I don’t fancy,” 
critically, “ that they were much of players, they 
made such a display of shoes and bats. Well, after 
I got in a sharp shower came on, and an elderly lady 
bustled across the road, — it’s rather wide there by 
the church, you know, — and, panting, shoved herself 
in and sat down with a bump. 

“ ‘ Oh, dear,’ she gasped to me ; ‘ but that’s a 
sharp shower.’ 

“ I said it was indeed a sharp shower ; and she 
added that running did not suit her. 

“ I said that I should hardly think it would ; and 
then she went on to remark that it was always best 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


77 


to be prepared beforehand for any vagaries the clerk 
of the weather might choose to go in for, — words to 
that effect, you know, — and then she added, ‘I’m 
sure,’ pointedly addressing one of the damsels with 
the war-paint, ‘ I’m sure, miss, I think you’re very 
wise to take your shoes out with you ; it’s most dan- 
gerous to sit in wet feet.’ 

“ A look of the most unutterable and intense dis- 
gust came over the damsel’s face. ‘ These are tennis 
shoes,’ she said, giving the shoes a dignified fiourisli, 
and in a withering tone of sarcasm intended to crush 
the unfortunately ignorant old lady. 

“‘Ay, I’m sure ; and very nice they are,’ said the 
old lady, approvingly ; ‘ they’re nice and thick, and 
they haven’t got no nasty heels to ’em. I call them 
sensible shoes, miss.’ ” 

It was a pleasant half-hour which followed, but 
Mrs. Dane never left her chair fora moment, and 
Hastings had not the chance of a single word alone 
with Una. "With the usual perversity of our frail 
humanity, he felt at that moment that if he but had 
her for ten minutes to himself he could settle every- 
thing, and would go out of the house a happy man 
for life — an accepted lover. • 

But the opportunity was not for him that day ; and 


78 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


as be went slowly througli Onslow’ Gardens, Memory 
upbraided him roundly for not having made better 
use of the many golden chances which had been his 
in the by-gone days — of the long, dreamy, drowsy 
hours he had spent in the garden of the Haymakers’ 
Rest, hours wherein a man might have proposed 
fifty times if he had chosen, and in which Alban 
Hastings would a few months before have declared 
himself able to propose to any woman in the world. 

But when he had found himself alone, and face to 
face with the one woman whom he w^as most fever- 
ishly, desperately anxious to wdn, it was another 
matter quite : try as he would, he could never manage 
to bring his courage up to the point of speaking out ; 
only, as is so often the case with us poor mortals, 
when a day came in which there chanced to be no 
golden hour, he was then perfectly convinced that 
had the golden hour been there the courage would 
have been there also. 

Christmas came and went. To those who were to 
spend it with the regiment it was but a dull and de- 
pressing kind of festivity, and wdien a few days later 
those poor souls went off on long leave it was with 
a sense of intense satisfaction and exultant joy, of 
which Hastings’s was certainly not the least visible. 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


79 


And then disappointment awaited him — a double 
disappointment ; for when he called on the Danes he 
found the house closed, or at least in the charge of 
a caretaker, who told him that the ladies had gone 
away, — gone into the country for a long visit, — she 
rather thought for more than one. 

And, as if that was not a hard enough blow, to 
knock all the heart out of him, a few days later there 
came orders for the Soudan ! 

Of course he had to rejoin his regiment without 
the delay of an hour ; and, in fact, went back to 
Warnecliffe in a towering rage, to find there other 
spirits equally as disgusted and as furious as him- 
self. 

“ If I had only had my long leave I shouldn’t 
have cared,” Marcus Orford grumbled dejectedly ; 
“ but it is hard lines to be done out of, perhaps, the 
last long leave'one will ever get.” 

“ But think of the glory,” put in Urquhart with 
a laugh. 

“The glory — umph! I’d like to have had my 
leave and let the glory take care of itself.” 

“ The glory of potting a few miserable devils of 
Arabs,” cried Hastings, disdainfully. 

“ With always the chance of being potted one’s 
6 


A MAN OF HONOR 


self,” Urquliart reminded him. “ Besides, just con- 
sider how foreign travel will improve your mind.” 

“ Improve my mind !” Hastings repeated con- 
temptuously. “Who wants his mind improved? 
Hot I, for one.” 

“ You said pretty much the same thing when you 
and I went off on march together last August, my 
friend,” TJrquhart persisted. “ Lord, how 3'ou 
sulked ! A bear with a sore head was a complete 
fool to you — a colorless, washed-out, namby-pamby 
picture of your frame of mind the day we rode out 
of the gates there. I wonder if you’ll get over it 
as easily this time. Hardly as soon, for you won’t 
see a single specimen of the other sex until we get 
to Suakin; and probably you won’t have a great 
choice when we do get there.” 

“ I should hope not,” returned Hastings in disgust. 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


81 


CHAPTER VII. 

However, as is always the case when a regiment 
goes off to active service, at the appointed time the 
Black Horse went out of Warnecliffe with all hon- 
ors, and, willing or unwilling, whether grumbling 
and growling, or cheery and contented of mind and 
manner, Alban Hastings had to go with the rest. 
He had a few hours’ leave to go up to town the af- 
ternoon before they left, that he might say good-by 
to his people, who all came up from different parts 
of the country for the purpose ; and I need hardly 
tell you that, my reader, I am sure, he made one 
more pilgrimage to the pretty house in South Ken- 
sington, but again he found only the ancient care- 
taker to receive him. 

“ The ladies is away,” she said, shaking her head. 
“ Ho, sir, I don’t know nothink about their coming 
’ome. I ’av’n’t ’card nothink. ’Ave I got the had- 
dress ? Ho, I ’av’n’t that neither. The butler calls 
every morning and fetches their letters. He’s a 
married man, and don’t live in the ’ouse ; but he 


83 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


gets a right good time ; no mistake about it. ’Alf 
liis time with ’is ladies away, and full pay going on 
all the same as if they was at ’ome.” 

“You couldn’t possibly find me the address?” 
Hastings asked, not so much because he wanted it, 
as because he liked to linger even on the threshold 
of her house. 

The ancient lady shook her frowzy, black-capped 
head. “ Sure I couldn’t, for I ’av’n’t got it, you 
see.” 

“ Look here,” said he suddenly, slipping a couple 
of broad silver pieces into her hand ; “ I’m going 
off to the war to-morrow — in Egypt, you know,” — he 
thought she wouldn’t know what he meant if he 
said to service in the Soudan, — “ and I want to see 
the studio and the drawing-room the last thing. 
Perhaps I may never come back again.” 

A sympathetic tear stood in each of the old lady’s 
shrewd eyes instantly. “ Going to the war, are you ?’^ 
she said. “ Eh, but I’ve one of the bonniest lads in 
the world, and he went last week. I’ll never see no 
more of ’im, that’s certain sure. Ay, come in, come 
in, and I’ll show you all the rooms you like. There’s 
the stew-do and the droring-room and the boodore 
and young miss’s own room the next to that. Ay, 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


83 


tliat’s wliat you want to see, I know,” as Hastings 
made an involuntary gesture. “Well, come along 
and I’ll show you.” 

Except that they were a good deal wrapped up, 
the rooms were much as he had seen them on the 
occasion of his one visit to the house; but when the 
old caretaker pulled up the blinds of Una’s own 
sleeping-chamber Hastings drew a long breath, and 
gazed around with something like awe. There was 
a little brass cot in the corner, with snowy muslin 
curtains hanging from a brass bar fixed to the ceil- 
ing; there were all the pretty odds and ends with 
which young ladies usually love to deck their toilet- 
tables and their mantel-shelves. And in one recess 
stood a neat rosewood davenport, and hanging on 
the wall above it a well-finished study in oils of the 
little B.-F. over at Briarbush. 

“ I shall never see you again, little B.-F.,” said 
Hastings to himself, thinking only of the service of 
danger on which he was just going, and with never 
a thought of the eagerness with which the little blue- 
eyed golden-haired child might have watched for his 
coming, or the disappointment which the non-fulfil- 
ment of his promise to go over and see her some- 
times, “ even after Miss Una had gone away,” had 


84 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


probably caused her. “ I shall never see you again, 
nor her. I wonder if she will be sorry ?” and then 
seeing something lying on the floor beside the dav- 
enport, which Una’s hand had probably let fall, he 
stooped and picked up — an envelope. 

There is nothing very wonderful about an enve- 
lope, and this one was old, torn, soiled, and bore two 
post-marks ; it was addressed to Miss Dane, the 
Haymakers’ Rest, Briarbush, and displayed on the 
i-everse the two black chargers supporting three 
Roman numerals XXV., which was the crest borne 
by his own regiment. 

The handwriting was his own, and, taking advan- 
tage of the old lady’s attention being directed at 
that moment to the window, Hastings slipped it into 
his pocket, and fished out another coin for her. 

‘‘ I’m very much obliged to you ; thank you 
greatly,” he said, turning to leave the room. 

“Hot at all, sir; I’ve a lad in the army myself,” 
she returned heartily. “ I wish you God-speed and 
a safe return, just as I wished ’im,” wiping her eyes 
with her apron the while. “ And I’m not to say 
nothink about you ’aving bin — eh ?” 

“ Oh, say I called ; I’ll leave a card,” he replied. 

The ladies will understand.” 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


85 


“Very good, sir. Oh, yes, they’ll understand 
fast enough. Thank ye, sir. Lord love you.” 

Finally, Hastings got him out of the house and 
away from the fire of the old lady’s grateful bless- 
ings. Then he had time and opportunity to have 
another look at the old envelope, when — yes — there 
was something inside it : he had unwittingly 
turned thief — thief at least of more than he had 
intended to steal. He opened it, and beheld — oh, 
how his heart beat, till he was indeed well-nigh suf- 
focated — a little bunch of withered fiowers ! 

Of course they were his — his — what he had' 
given her: there were the faded corpses of two 
little rosebuds, two bits of gardenia, a bit of stepha.- 
notis, a few sprays of lilies of the valley, and sonae 
fronds of dried and brown maiden-hair, The wire 
which had kept them in place was stilj transfixing 
the rosebuds and the g^deijias and the stephanotis, 
and there could be po doubt that it was one of the 
many such little bouquets which he had carried over 
to Briarbush from Warnecliffe. Perhaps it was 
the first; he tried to remember something definite 
about the first he had ever given her, but he could 
remember nothing. Still, there was no doubt what- 
ever that it had been his gift, or that it had been 


86 


A MAN OP HONOR. 


carefully treasured up, placed for protection in one 
of his own envelopes and for safety in one of the 
drawers of the pretty rosewood davenport. 

From being one of the most miserable men under 
heaven, Alban Hastings went back to Warnecliffe 
an hour later as happy as — as — a king ; nay, happier 
than the most blissfully happy and contented po- 
tentate anywhere to be found in the whole annals of 
the world’s history. Truly, in some instances, it 
needs but a mere trifle to lift us into heaven or to 
cast us into hell. 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


87 


CHAPTER VIII. 

It would not in any way aid my story if I were 
to give a detailed account of the life led by the 
Black Horse in general and by Alban Hastings in 
particular when and after they reached Suakin. 

They had the usual voyage out, the usual toss-up 
in the Bay of Biscay, the usual glimpse of Gibral- 
tar, the usual panorama of the African coast, and 
a few hours’ run ashore at Malta. They had the 
usual make-believe jollity and bravado delight at 
the prospect of real service, the usual spells of 
weariness and depression, the usual gallant efforts 
made by those of superior rank to alleviate the dul- 
ness between decks, the usual joy and delight to get 
ashore and have the journey over, although every 
man-jack of them, from the Colonel down to the 
youngest private, would each and all be pining and 
fretting in next to no time for the chance of getting 
home again. I must do Alban Hastings the justice 
to say that no poetic remarks as to the chances of 
glory and valor which the expedition afforded them 


88 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


wherewith further to ennoble the gallant profession 
of arms to which they had the honor of belonging, 
no love of seeing strange countries and people, no 
golden opportunities of gathering together various 
trophies and curiosities of the Egyptian, the 
Arabian, and the African peoples, ever made the 
very smallest difference in his demeanor : from first 
to last it was unchanged, unaltered ; it was one com 
tinuous, unvarying bitter hatred and detestation of 
everything — person, animal, circumstance, or inci- 
dent — connected in any way whatever, no matter 
how remotely, with the Soudan campaign, and par- 
ticularly with that portion of it which held Suakin 
as the base of its operations. 

As did the others in the matter of everyday life, 
however, so did he. He worked when there was 
any work to do ; and he worked well, but grumbled. 
He went out shooting when there was no work on 
hand ; and though he shot well and made a big bag, 
he grumbled at that also : he grumbled at the flies 
and the heat and the dust — at everything. As 
Urquhart remarked one day, nothing seemed to 
give him the smallest gratification or pleasure. A 
fight between a couple of scorpions seemed to have 
no delight for his soul ; and to see the bored air of 


i 



“how fond they were of each 


OTHER then!” 



A MAN OF HONOR. 


91 


disgust with whicli he bundled a fine fat lizard out 
of his tent would have led any one who did not 
know otherwise to believe that fine, fat, freckled 
lizards were a luxury to which he had been accus- 
tomed from his youth up. 

And then he was taken with enteric fever, and 
had to go on board the hospital-ship, and he did not 
appear to like that any better. There must have 
been a good deal of truth in what Urquhart had 
said — it really seemed as if there was no way or 
means of satisfying him. 

But, jesting apart, it was not to be wondered at 
he did not appreciate a bad attack of enteric fever ; 
for it was a bad one — so bad that he was within an 
ace of giving up the game altogether, and letting 
grim Death put an end to his grumbling forever. 
Day after day he lay in his swinging cot, existing 
on the weakest slops, three parts of his time slip- 
ping from delirium into lightheaded ness, his own 
senses only coming to him now and then — like angel 
visits, few and far between. 

It was strange that in those days of pain and 
weakness and danger he forgot all about Una Dane 
and Briarbush, and only remembered the earlier 
days when pretty Bessie, the gardener’s daughter, 


92 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


was all the world to him. Pretty Bessie ! How fond 
they were of each other tlien ; how heartless and 
cruel he had been to her afterwards, when he had 
begun to get weary of her ! And how good it was 
of her to forgive and forget it all, and come to liim 
in this his hour of need and distress ! 

“ Bessie ! Bessie !” he often cried out loud, so 
that every head in the cabin was turned to him, ex- 
cepting such as were as addled and as fevered as his 
own. “ Bessie ! Bessie !” 

“Yes, I am here,” was the invariable reply. 
“ What is it now, dear?” 

“ So thirsty — so good of you — so — ” And then ofi 
he wandered again, babbling of the days of his boy- 
hood, of the green fields at home and the thrush’s 
nest down by the alders in the meadow, of the 
primroses and the yellow blossoms of the aconite 
which clustered around the foot of the great elm on 
the lawn in front of the drawing-room windows. 
“You remember that too, Bessie, don’t you?” he 
cried one night to the sister who had charge of him. 
“You carCt have forgotten it.” 

“ Ah, no, dear. I remember it perfectly,” was 
Sister Myra’s answer, “ and the lilies of the valley 
that strayed into the lawn-turf, and how father ran 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


93 


them over with tlie mowing-machine. Oh ! I re- 
member it all perfectly.” 

“ Ah ! I thought you couldnH have forgotten it,” 
he returned, with the petulance of extreme illness. 
“ So good of you.” 

“You’re a wonderful woman, sister,” said the 
patient in the next cot, as Hastings sank off to 
sleep. “ How in the world you can remember all 
the wild nonsense he gabbled yesterday, and satisfy 
his mind as you do, passes niy comprehension.” 

“ It comes quite easily to me. Lord Archie,” said 
Sister Myra with a smile — a smile which puzzled 
Lord Archie not a little. 

“You think he’ll pull through it?” with an 
anxious gesture towards his comrade. 

“ Oh yes, please God,” was the fervent reply. 

The days wore on, but still Hastings did not 
come to his own senses or to a clear understanding 
as to where he was. Meantime Lord Archie, who 
was suffering from a painful gun-shot wound, and 
had the bullet still remaining somewhere about his 
collar-bone, got a little stronger, and was quietly 
lifted out of his cot one morning, placed on a 
stretcher, and earned on board a homeward-bound 
hospital-ship, his place being taken by another case 


94 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


of fever as bad, if not worse, than that which kept 
Hastings a prisoner in the adjoining cot. 

This all happened whilst Hastings was still back 
in the old days wandering hand-in-hand with pretty 
Bessie among the yellow primroses and the dark- 
leafed aconites. 

And then there came a day, or rather a night, 
when in the still and silent hours the fever-light 
died out of his eyes, and he beheld not only the 
past but the present; when weak and worn to a 
shadow, with bones well-nigh starting through his 
skin, helpless as a child, and powerless to move 
hand or foot, he looked up wonderingly and with 
amazement into the face of Sister Myra in her gray 
and scarlet gown, and cried — cried — nay, rather 
whispered, or still better fraTned^ with his poor 
colorless lips the one word “ Bessie 

Sister Myra bent down over the bed. “Yes, 
dear,” she answered very softly. 

“You are Bessie?” inquiringly. 

“ I was . . They call me Sister Myra now. I put 
the old name off with the old life, Alban.” 

But her face belied her words : if she had put off 
the old life with the old name, why need she then 
have flushed and paled as she did beneath his won- 
dering gaze ? 


A MAN OF HONOR, 


95 


Yes. She had put off the old name ; but the old 
life — that was another matter. She might be wear- 
ing the scarlet and gray garb of a ISTetley sister or 
nurse. She might even have schooled herself into 
the belief that she had grown utterly indifferent to 
the lover of her girlhood — the lover who had de- 
serted her because he had grown a little weary. 
She might have believed in her heart that she had 
quite given up pining after the past, that he was 
now as less than nothing to her ; but when he was 
carried on board the hospital-ship, lying helplessly 
at death’s door, she forgot all save that he was the 
man whom she had loved. He might be worthless, 
heartless, unstable, fickle, — oh! all the thousand 
and one terms of reproach which may be hurled at 
the head of a man who is not constant in love, — 
yes, he might be all these, but he was weak and 
suffering, and she had loved him once. 

It was her duty to nurse him, to bring him back 
from the jaws of death ; if human skill and devo- 
tion would avail in such a case — it was her duty to 
do it. So it is not surprising that when duty, for 
which she had given up her life, went, as it went 
in nursing him, hand in hand with her whole, true, 
fond woman’s heart, that the past and the present 


96 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


became united, and that Alban Hastings — the man 
whom she had loved once, the man for whom she 
had risked all, the man whom she had lost — rose 
once again to be the joj of her life, the pole-star of 
her heart ; the man not whom she had loved, but 
w'hom she loved now with all the old passionate, 
reckless, fierce love, grown deeper and stronger. 
It had been a girl’s fancy then — it was the love of 
a woman now ! 

And Alban Hastings — what of him? Of his 
feelings w'hen he found himself dependent for every 
comfort and ease of life upon the woman -whose 
girlhood he had blighted, whose love he had* cast 
•aside as a thing of naught because it had been given 
to him freely and ungrudgingly, aud was therefore 
not of as great value as if he had been forced to 
strive hard for it and win it against the world — 
what of them? Well! through all those long and 
weary weeks of pain and sickness, — sickness so ex- 
treme that the burden of life seemed at times too 
heavy a load for his feeble frame to carry a step 
farther, — through all the strain of partial convales- 
cence, with its attendant fretfulness and famishing 
hunger, through the danger of a severe relapse and 
a still more lengthened and wearisome tmin of after- 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


97 


symptoms — ^through all that he had but one sense, 
one feeling, one idea — that was of the comfort her 
presence gave him. There was such support in tlie 
knowledge that what could be done by the power 
of human skill and devotion to save him alive from 
the pestilence which had so sorely beset him surely 
would be done. There was such a stay for his 
weak soul in the fact that she was ever at hand to 
fulfil his slightest and most capricious desire. The 
sight of her lovely face, the beauty of her great, 
true, loving eyes, the touch of the old dialect in her 
accents,— the dialect which the people spoke at home^ 
- — the clasp of her firm strong hands, the mere fact 
of her presence, all combined to make a strong an- 
chor to which he might make fast even when he 
had almost slipped from this world into the border- 
lands of the next, and already had begun with faint 
and faltering footsteps to ford the dark waters of 
that river which we can breast but once, and over 
which never man crossed from that side to this 
since the Blessed Saviour died on the Cross and 
rose to light the world. 

His song at this time had but one burden, sung 
in but one strain — it was so good of her, so good to 
forget the past, to condone the cruelty, the coldness, 


98 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


the desertion of the by-gone days, and only to re- 
member that he was weary and sick, sick unto 
death in a land of sand and thorns. Oh ! it was so 
good, so good ; there was nobody in all the wide 
world half so noble, so good, so clever and deft- 
handed as Bessie ! His dear little darling Bessie ! 

And then — when he was getting a little better, 
and could just bear to whisper into her ear when 
she had ten minutes to spare and could sit by his 
bed and listen — he would wander on about the days 
of their childhood. What fun they used to have 
down by tlie riverside in the big meadow over by 
the park ! Did Bessie remember it ? What pleas- 
ure in wood and dale, and how, when the reservoir 
up at Charlton burst, and the waters flooded meadow 
and park alike, right up to the high-road and the 
very gates of the drawing-room pleasaunce — Bessie 
could not have forgotten that ? For if she would 
remember it, he had built a raft and they had had 
glorious games of shipwreck and Bobinson Crusoe ; 
how they had rescued various odds and ends of fur- 
niture and clothing, and a wee stray kitten which 
came swinging down stream clinging to a tub and 
screaming piteously ; and how soon after that a wee 
baby followed in a cradle, and they had grappled it 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


99 


to the side of the raft with a rake and brought it 
safely in — no, not safely, for the wee babe was lying 
in that peaceful sleep which has no awaking in this 
world ! And how Bessie had wept over the little 
dead face, all blue and pinched with the cold of a 
night’s exposure to the pitiless storm of waters, and 
then — why, Bessie, Bessie, what could there be in 
the recollection of that long-departed scene of their 
childhood to make Sister Myra break down altogether 
into a passionate storm of tears ? Well, it was only 
the remembrance of another little dead face over 
which she had sobbed and wept in the passion of 
heart-broken despair — a little dead face which Alban 
Hastings had never seen, though it was the image of 
his own. That was all, No such wonderful thing; 
only a stray bit of the flotsam and jetsam of this 
life ; a thing not of much value to any one, but 
which had nevertheless left a blank space in Sister 
Myra’s heart which not even Alban Hastings would 
ever be quite able to fill up. 

However, it was not often that the by-gone 
memories troubled her ; she was too all-happy in the 
present. What was the past to her, even though 
one page was turned down and could never be 
folded back without the keenest pain and self-re- 


100 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


proacli ? What was the past ? Ay, and a wiser 
liead than hers would have asked, Where and what 
was the future? Where would her life lie? What 
would it be ? But Sister Myra never did : she had 
the present, the blissful, intoxicating present, with 
its thousajid soft, womanlj^, tender cares, and she 
looked no farther. She had chosen the path of duty, 
and duty had given her the care of him, had brought 
liim sick and in need, asking forgiveness and com- 
fort of her. Could she refuse them, or trouble 
about the time to come? No — a thousand times 
no ! She was a real woman, and did not even doubt 
him enough to notice that in all his whisperings and 
confidences, amid all his reminiscences and recollec- 
tions, he never hinted at the future — never spoke of 
what was to come, never attempted to picture the 
after-years. 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


101 


CHAPTEK IX. 

And by and by Alban Hastings began to improve 
in health and strength, and was able to bear being 
carried out under the awning on deck and have 
visitors from ashore ; mostly the fellows, whose visits 
broke the monotony of the weary, uneventful days, 
and who brought him such odds and ends of news 
and gossip as they were able to gather in that be- 
nighted abiding-place. 

Amongst them came Marcus Orford, hale and 
strong as if he had never suffered a day’s illness in 
his life, who told him, amongst other items of news, 
that Archie Falconer had had exceptional luck in 
the way of recovery, having been seized with a vio- 
lent fit of sea-sickness just after leaving Port Said, 
which, though it had prostrated him greatly, had 
done him the good service of jerking the bullet out 
of its hiding-place, and had enabled him to land at 
Southampton very far on the high-road to health and 
strength. Hastings felt quite a delightful little glow 
of pleasure to hear it ; it was so refreshing to know 


103 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


that any one had got safely out of the Valley of 
Death, as the Black Horse had come to call Suakin 
amongst themselves. 

It was after this that he began to make real and 
rapid progress towards recovery himself, and began 
also to think with longing of the people at home 
and the dear country of his birth — which, in spite of 
all his many grumblings, he had ever held at its 
proper value ; to think of English comforts and en- 
joyments ; to crave, with a craving which possessed 
him like a fever, for cool winds and green fields. 

And then, when such thoughts as these had fairly 
taken possession of him, it was naturally not very 
long before an equally pronounced distaste for all 
his surroundings came also : first, a realization of the 
intense discomfort of a hospital-ship ; then a con- 
viction tliat he had not half the edible comforts he 
ought to have ; then — then — for of course i’t was, 
and had been from the very first, quite sure to come 
sooner or later — a setting up for comparison in his 
own mind the two women who had of late most 
powerfully swayed his nature — Sister Myra and 
Una Dane. 

Is it necessary for me to say that in spite of the 
devotion, the grand spirit of forgiveness and self- 


A MAN OF HONOR, 


103 


renunciation which she had shown to him, in spite 
of the tender love with which she had nursed him 
and brought him back to life from the very gate of 
death, Sister Myra was the one to suffer by the com- 
parison ? 

I hardly think so! He began, after a while, to per- 
ceive that although Sister Myra’s hands were strong 
and firm and helpful, tliey were neither so white nor 
so soft as those of the artist’s daughter, with their 
calm and placid ways, and her dainty, delicate, cobweb 
handiwork. He realized that although Sister Myra 
made in her gray and scarlet nurse’s gown a picture 
which brought gladness and peace and joy to the 
hearts of many and many a sick and weary sufferer 
on board that ship, yet — shame on him for it — there 
was a lack of the well-trained and easy grace which 
had so greatly charmed him in Una Dane. 

He found very soon that the slightly less refined 
accents grated on his ears and jarred his senses, while 
in truth his ears ought to have shrivelled up sooner 
than have caught anything but the true love which 
rang in all Sister Myra’s tones ; and after this it was 
but a very short time ere he admitted to his heart — > 
what he called his heart — that Una Dane was the 
woman he loved, while Sister Myra was only the 


104 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


woman who loved him — God help her! — nothing 
more than that. 

Of course, before he was sent home he would have 
to make Sister Myra understand this clearly — it 
would be only honest to do it. Some fellows, he 
argued, might just sneak off, and let time do the rest 
—let time break the truth to her; but he was not 
one of that sort. It would be very painful, very 
painful indeed, and he hoped Bessie would not take 
it badly, but be sensible and collected over it. Of 
course, she never could reasonably expect him to 
marry her ; it was utterly out of the question and 
impossible, even supposing there was no Una Dane 
to be considered ! If his affections were free to 
bestow — which was not so — he would never be able 
to take home a wife who had been born in the 
gardener’s cottage of his estate, more particularly 
when everybody knew perfectly well that she had 
been a servant in his mother’s house and had left it 
— well, without explanation. Of course it was quite 
impossible. And thus, even supposing he was other- 
wise free and unfettered, and wished to marry her, 
he would on this account be obliged to leave the 
army and live abroad, or at least quite away from his 
own place. So to speak, he would have to exile 
himself from the home of his ancestors, and — oh ! 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


105 ' 


well, of course, it would not do at all, and Bessie 
must be made to clearly understand it. 

But all this time Sister Myra, who waited andi 
tended upon him with the same untiring devotion 
which she had shown all along, noticed nothing, 
guessed nothing, of what was passing in his mind. 
She looked forward to his being sent home witln 
mingled feelings of gladness and dread — gladness 
that his fast- returning strength would have the best 
chance of all of being built up into really good 
health ; dread that all the lightness and joy would 
pass out of her life until they should meet again. 
But that before long they would meet again. Sister 
Myra’s honest soul never entertained so much as the 
shadow of a doubt. So she was glad and sorry, 
grave and gay, jubilant yet cast down, at the thought 
of the coming parting, though she had no idea of its 
being a parting but for a little time. 

At this time she used to sing softly to herself the 
refrain of a little song which she had often heard 
one of her patients crooning over after he had had 
a letter from his sweetheart at home : 

“But time shall show 

I have lived not in vain; 

For love is only waiting 
Until we meet again,” 


106 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


It was wonderful how the pretty tender words 
comforted her. 

And at last Hastings got the news that he was to 
be sent home the following day ; and then, then, oh ! 
how his heart leapt and passionately beat at the 
thought that after a few weeks he might, nay, he 
should, find himself face to face with Una Dane, 
when all would be right between them forever, and 
they would slip through the rapids of courtship into 
the smooth waters of married life, down which they 
would glide in ease and peace and goodness — yes, 
he ended with goodness, though I doubt greatly if 
he had ever looked for or desired it in all his life 
before — until that darkness should fall upon them 
from which he had so lately escaped for a little 
season. 

And there still remained to tell Bessie ! In spite 
of that other powerful magnet which was drawing 
his heart toward the old country, his lieart sank very 
low in his bosom as Sister Myra came to his bed- 
side; but he must tell her — there was no help for 
it. Of course, if he were like some fellows, he might 
go home and say nothing of his plans ; but he couldn’t 
do that. If he was anything, he was a man of 
honor, and wlien he went home to clain) Una Dane 


A MAN OP HONOR. 


107 


as his wife lie would go with a clean slate. Yes, he 
would do that. 

“ Y ou know I’ve got my route, Bessie ?” he began, 
in a timid sort of way, and without looking at her. 

“ Yes, dear,” in a cheerful tone, or what sounded 
so. 

“You won’t mind? you won’t worry about me?” 
half anxiously. “ I hope you are glad for me, 
Bessie ?” 

“ Very glad. I shall be thankfu?when you are 
away from this, more thankful when I hear you have 
landed safe and sound,” she answered firmly ; “ but 
as for missing you — why, yes, I shall miss you, and 
I’m afraid I shall worry too, till I hear you’ve borne 
the journey well.” 

“ It’s my only chance,” he sighed, laying his hand 
upon hers. Then he remembered the new state of 
affairs, and took it away again. “ I — I — ” with a 
faint accent of reproach, “ I thought you would be 
a little glad.” 

“ I am glad,” Sister Myra cried, hurt by the tone. 
“ I rejoice in anything that is for your w'elfare. 
Surely, Alban, you will believe that?” 

“ Oh, yes, yes ; but you seemed rather to grudge 
my going home, or I fancied it.” 


108 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


“You fancied it,” said Sister Myra, promptly. 

She liad brought him a newspaper and a magazine, 
and he took up the paper then, and began crumpling 
and twisting and turning it with his thin nervous 
fingers. She went on speaking : 

“You know surely by this time, my dearest, that 
with me your welfare, your pleasure, your happi- 
ness, comes before all, in front of everything. I 
would give up my very life to serve you. Then, do 
you think that for my pleasure I would keep you 
liere in this death-stricken place for a single day — 
nay, for a single hour ?” 

“1^0, I don’t think you would, Bessie. You’re a 
good girl, and I’m sure you’ve been awfully good 
and — and — kind and all that to me, whilst I’ve been 
laid by the leg here ; awfully good, and I’ll never 
forget it, never. Of course it was very odd our 
meeting as we did, wasn’t it ? And I know you’ve 
looked after me for the sake of the old times, and 
all that. What fun we had when we were boy and 
girl together, hadn’t we V’ 

He felt that he was getting confused and mixed, 
the more so the farther he went ; but as Sister Myra 
never helped him out by so much as a word, he could 
only go stammering and blundering helplessly on. 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


109 


“You know, of course, Bessie, I am very grateful 
to you for all your kindness to me. I shall send 
you a handsome present to remember me by as soon 
as ever I get home, and — and — I shall always be 
glad to hear of you and that you are getting on 
well — always ; you know that, don’t you, Bessie ? 
But I don’t suppose we shall see much of each 
other again, as I shan’t be in the service very long. 
I’m going to leave it, you know ; in fact, that’s to 
say, — yes, I may as well tell you at once, without 
making any bones about it, — I’m going home to be 
married, Bessie, to a lady who is very beautiful and 
very clever, quite young, and a great artist’s daugh- 
ter. And I’m sure,” suddenly altering his tone, 
abandoning the stammer and the blundering, and 
adopting a highly proper and moral air, “I hope 
you’ll see the matter in the right light, and take it 
in a proper spirit, because — well, because — ” But 
here he came to a sudden standstill, and renewed 
his nervous twitching and pulling of the newspaper 
which she had brought him, and lay back in his 
chair waiting for her to speak. 

But Sister Myra did not speak at all — never ut- 
tered one word ; and a silence fell upon them which 


110 


A MAN OF HONOR. 


Alban Hastings positively had not enough courage 
to break. 

Instead he smoothed out the paper and began 
diligently studying it, as men do when they have 
come to an utter standstill in a conversation, while 
Sister Myra sat beside him without moving, like a 
block of wood or a stone. 

At first he was so confused and disturbed that he 
could not see a word ; the lines of print jumped up 
and down in front of his eyes in dazzling confusion 
— and then — and then — he all at once realized that 
they were still now. Yes, still, though his hand 
was shaking like an aspen leaf, his breath was com- 
ing hard and fast in great gasps, and the sweat stood 
out upon his brow in great drops of cold agony. 

For this was what he read : 

“ On the 19th inst., at St. Mary Abbotts, Kensing- 
ton, Lord Archie Falconer, Captain of the 25th 
Dragoons, to Una, only chftd of the late Everard 
Dane.” 

And when after a long time he turned instinc- 
tively for comfort to Sister Myra, little sunny-haired 
Bessie, the playfellow of his childhood, the woman 
who had loved him through all and in spite of all, 
there was no longer any comfort there, for Sister 


SISTER MYRA SAT BKt:iDE HIM WITHOUT MOVING. LIKE A BLOCK OF WOOD OR A STONE. 








A MAN OF HONOR. 


113 


Myra was a Netley nurse no longer, and the gray 
and scarlet gown only covered something which a 
few short moments before had been a living, loving 
woman. 

It was of no use to cry out aloud for doctors and 
nurses ; no use to wring his nervous, wasted hands, 
and proclaim passionately that he had loved her, 
loved her, loved her. It was no use to tell his own 
miserable stricken conscience that it had been but 
a passing infatuation which had possessed him for 
Archie Falconer’s wife, that his heart had been all 
the time with little Bessie: for little Bessie was 
dead — dead — dead ; and the ears which had never 
before been deaf to any tone or inflection of his 
voice were deaf to everything now, and would 
never listen again to the voice of the charmer, 
charm he never so wisely. 

And this was the man who had said of himself, 
if he was anything he was a man of honor. 


THE END. 




J. S. WINTER'S NOVELS. 


'MIGNON; OR, BOOTLES’S BABY. Illustrated. 16mo, 
Paper, 25 cents. 

A charming little story of military life. — N". Y. Sun. 

A bright and taking little story, well worth reading. — The Critic, N. T. 

It is full of bright pictures, and the text is bright and deliciously fun- 
ny. — Commercial Bulletin, Boston. 

It is finely told, with humor and pathos, and excels in quick character 
drawing and style. It moves the better feelings. — Boston Globe. 

It is a light story of garrison life, with enough of a mystery to make it 
interesting to the end, and with a touch of pathos which is excellently 
done. — Boston Courier. 

It is just the kind of book to help one to pass a summer afternoon 
pleasantly. The story treats of English regimental life, and relates the 
adventures of a stray baby, unceremoniously presented to one of the 
characters, in a striking and amusing manner. — Boston Commonwealth. 

This is a pretty little story of barrack life, having for its central figure 
a precocious little sprite, who dances about a manly soldier of the best 
sort. The story is well told. — Providence Telegram. 

^HOUP-EA. Illustrated. 16mo, Paper, 25 cents. 

It is a pathetic story and abounds in incident. — N. T. Sun. 

The tale has much of humor, much of pathos, and will occupy an hour 
very pleasantly. — Troy Telegram. 

A story of adventure, exciting situations, strange scenes, odd charac- 
ters, and of absorbing interest. — Albaiiy Press. 

A pretty story, full of human interest. It is nicely told, and holds the 
reader from the beginning to the close. — Philadelphia North American. 

A touching story of a waif, rescued from a cruel master by an English 
army officer. — Philadelphia Inquirer. 

A very amusing and, in its close, pathetic story of humble constancy 
and heroism. — Z/kni’s Herald, Boston. 

In quarters with the 25TH (THE BLACK 
HORSE) DRAGOONS. 16mo, Paper, 25 cents. 

Its jollity and fun are exemplified by practical jokes and deliberate 
waggishness, and at the same time there are not wanting bits of pathos 
and genuine heroism. The narrative is unflaggiiigly interesting and at 
times very dramatic. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

Briskly narrated in a dashing manner, and well fitted to engage an 
idle half-hour. — Boston Herald. 

Well worth reading Written in a lively and forcible style, and is one 

of the books which it is a pleasure to pick up when one wishes enter- 
taining reading matter for a short time. Besides, being more or less stories 
of adventure, and the same characters occurring in more than one of 
them, the interest continues until the book is finished.— .Bosfon Times. 

'a man of honor. 16mo, Paper, 25 cents. 


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Habpkb & Beothees will send any of the above works by mail, postage pre- 
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^BEN-HDR. A TALE OF THE CHRIST. 

By Lew. Wallace. New Edition, pp. 552. 16mo, Cloth, 

$1 50. 

Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of this 
romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of Mr, Wal- 
lace’s writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenes de- 
scribed in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill of 
an accomplished master of style. — W. Y. Times. 

Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at the 
beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brilliant. . . . 
We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes; we witness a sea- 
fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman galley, domestic in- 
teriors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the tribes of the desert; pal- 
aces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman youth, the houses of pious 
families of Israel. There is plenty of exciting incident; everything is 
animated, vivid, and glowing. — N. Y. Tribune. 

From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader’s interest 
will be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pronounced by all 
one of the greatest novels of the day. — Boston Post. 

It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and there 
is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc., to greatly 
strengthen the semblance. — Boston Commonwealth. 

“Ben-Hur” is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
Meanwhile it evinces careful study of the perfod in which the scene is laid, 
and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to realize the 
nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Roman life at 
Antioch at the time of our Saviour’s advent. — Examiner, N. Y. 

It is really Scripture history of Christ’s time clothed gracefully and 
delicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. ... Few late 
works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest. — N. Y. Graphic. 

One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
warm as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic 
chapters of history. — Indianapolis Journal. 

The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional novel 
and romance. — Boston Journal. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Kf The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States 
or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


THE BREAD-WINNERS 

A Social Study. 16ino, Cloth, $1 00. 


One of the strongest and most striking stories of the last ten years. . . . 
The work of a very clever man ; it is told with many lively strokes of hu- 
mor ; it sparkles with epigram ; it is brilliant with wit. . . . The chief 
characters in it are actually alive ; they are really flesh and blood ; they 
are at once true and new ; and they are emphatically and aggressively 
American. The anonymous author has a firm grip on American character. 
He has seen, and he has succeeded in making us see, facts and phases of 
American life which no one has put into a book before. . . . Interesting, 
earnest, sincere ; fine in its performance, and finer still in its promise. — 
Saturday Review, London. 

A worthy contribution to that American novel-literature which is at the 
present day, on, the whole, ahead of our own. — Pall Mall Gazette, London. 

Praise, and unstinted praise, should be given to “The Bread-Winners.” 
— N. Y. Times. 

It is a novel with a plot, rounded and distinct, upon which every episode 
has a direct bearing. . . . The book is one to stand nobly the test of im- 
mediate re-reading. — Critic, N. Y. 

It is a truly remarkable book. — N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 

As a vigorous, virile, well-told American story, it is long since we have 
had anything as good as “ The Bread-Winners.” — Philadelphia Bulletin. 

Every page of the book shows the practised hand of a writer to whom 
long use has made exact literary expression as easy and spontaneous as 
the conversation of some of those gifted talkers who are at once the 
delight and the envy of their associates. ... We might mention many 
scenes which seem to us particularly strong, but if we began such a 
catalogue we should not know where to stop. — N. Y. Tribune. 

Within comparatively few pages a stoiy which, as a whole, deserves to 
be called vigorous, is tersely told. . . . The author’s ability to depict the 
mental and moral struggles of those who are poor, and who believe them- 
selves oppressed, is also evident in his management of the strike and in 
his delineation of the characters of Sam Sleeny, a carpenter’s journeyman, 
and Ananias Offit, the villain of the story. , . . The characters who bring 
into play and work out the author’s ideas are all well drawn, and their in- 
dividuality maintained and developed with a distinctness that shows inti- 
mate familiarity with the subject, as well as unquestionable ability in deal- 
ing with it. — N. Y. Evening Telegram. 


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UPON A OAST. 


A Novel. By Charlotte Dunning, pp. 330. 16mo, 

Cloth, $1 00. 

It embodies throughout the expressions of genuine American frank- 
ness, is well conceived, well managed, and brought to a delightful 
and captivating close. — Albany Press. 

The author writes this story of American social life in an interest- 
ing manner . . . The style of the writing is excellent, and the dia- 
logue clever. — N. Y. Times. 

This story is strong in plot, and its characters are drawn with a 
firm and skilful hand. They seem like real people, and their acts 
and words, their fortunes and misadventures, are made to engage the 
reader’s interest and sympathy. — Worcester Daily Spy. 

The character painting is very well done. . . . The' sourest cynic 
that ever sneered at woman cannot but find the little story vastly 
entertaining. — Commercial Bulletin, Boston. 

The life of a semi-metropolitan village, with its own aristocracy, 
gossips, and various other qualities of people, is admirably por- 
trayed. . . . The book fascinates the reader from the first page to 
the last. — Boston Traveller. 

The plot has been constructed with no little skill, and the charac- 
ters — all of them interesting and worthy of acquaintance— are por- 
trayed with great distinctness. The book is written in an entertain- 
ing and vivacious style, and is destined to provide entertainment for 
a large number of readers. — Chi'istian at W^ork, N. Y. 

One of the best — if not the very best— of the society novels of the 
season. — Detroit Free Press. 

Of peculiar interest as regards plot, and with much grace and 
freshness of style. — Brooklyn Times. 

The plot has been constructed with no little skill, and the characters 
— all of them interesting and worthy of acquaintance — are portrjiyed 
with great distinctness. Bmrrder, Philadelphia. 

A clever and entertaining novel. It is wholly social, and the 
theatre is a small one ; but the characters are varied and are drawn 
with a firm hand ; the play of human passion and longing is well- 
defined and brilliant ; and the movement is effective and satisfac- 
tory. . . . The love story is as good as the social study, making alto- 
^her an uncommonly entertaining book for vacation reading. — 
Wilmington (Del.) Morning News. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

49* Habfkr & Bbothbbs viill send the above work by mail, postage prepaid, to 
any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


SOME POPULAR NOVELS 

PubUshed by HAEPER & BROTHERS New York. 


The Octavo Paper Novels in this list may he obtained in half-binding [leather backs 
and pasteboard aides], suitable for Public and Circulating Libraries, at 25 cents 
per volume, in addition to the prices named below. The 32mo Paper Novels may be 
obtained in Cloth, at 16 cents per volume in addition to the prices named below. 

For a Fni.i. List of Novels published by Habpeb & Bbothebb, see Harfeb’s New 
AN n Revised Catalogtib, which will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any ad- 
dress in the United States, on receipt of Ten cents. 


BAKER’S (Rev. W. M.) Carter Quarterman. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

Inside: a Chronicle of Secession. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

The New Timothy 12mo, Cloth, $1 60; 4to, Paper 

The Virginians in Texas 8vo, Paper 

BENEDICT’S (F. L.) John Worthington’s Name 8vo, Paper 

Miss Dorothy’s Charge 8vo, Paper 

Miss Van Kortland ,.8vo, Paper 

My Daughter Elinor 8vo, Paper 

St. Simon’s Niece 8vo, Paper 

BESANT’S (W.) All in a Garden Fair 4to, Paper 

BESANT & RICE’S Al! Sorts and Conditions of Men 4to, Paper 

By Celia’s Arbor. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

Shepherds All and Maidens Fair 32mo, Paper 

“ So they were Married !” Illustrated 4to, Paper 

Sweet Nelly, My Heart’s Delight 4to, Paper 

The Captains’ Room ...4to, Paper 

The Chaplain of the Fleet 4to, Paper 

The Golden Butterfly 8vo, Paper 

’Twas in Trafalgar’s Bay 32mo, Paper 

When the Ship Comes Home 32mo, Paper 

BLACK’S (W.) A Daughter of Heth . 12mo, Cloth, $1 26 ; 8vo, Paper 


A Princess of Thule 12mo, Cloth, 1 26; 

Green Pastures and Piccadilly. .12mo, Cloth, 1 26; 

In Silk Attire 12mo, Cloth, 1 26; 

Judith Shakespeare. Ill’d 12mo, Cloth, 126; 

Kilmeny 1 2mo, Cloth, 1 26 ; 

‘’Macleod of Dare. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, 1 26; 


1 25; 
1 26; 
1 26; 
1 26; 


8vo, Paper 
8vo, Paper 
8vo, Paper 
4to, Paper 
8vo, Paper 
8vo, Paper 
4to, Paper 
8vo, Paper 
4to, Paper 
4to, Paper 
4to, Paper 


Madcap Violet 12mo, Cloth, 

Shandon Bells. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, 

Sunrise 12mo, Cloth, 

That Beautiful Wretch. Ill’d... 12mo, Cloth, 

The Maid of Killeena, and Other Stories 8vo, Paper 

The Monarch of Mincing-Lane. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. 12mo, Cloth, $1 26 ; 8vo, Pa. 

Three Feathers. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, $1 26 ; 8vo, Paper 

White Heather 12mo, Cloth, 126; 4to, Paper 

^hite Wings. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, 126; 4to, Paper 


PRICE 
$ 60 
76 
26 
75 

75 

76 
60 
80 
60 
20 
20 
60 

25 
20 
10 
10 
20 
40 
20 

26 
36 
60 
60 
36 
20 
36 
60 
15 
60 
20 
15 
20 
40 
60 
60 
60 
20 
20 


2 Harper d; Brothers' Popular Novels. 


FRIOK 

BLACK’S (W.) Yolande. Illustrated... 12mo, Cloth, $1 26 ; 4to, Paper $ 20 

BLACKMORE’S (R. D.) Alice Lorraine 8vo, Paper 60 

Christowell 4to, Paper 20 

Clara Vaughan 4to, Paper 16 

Cradock Nowell 8vo, Paper 60 

Cripps, the Carrier. Illustrated 8 vo, Paper 60 

Erema 8 vo, Paper 60 

Lorna Doone 12mo, Cloth, $1 00; 8vo, Paper 26 

Mary Anerley 16mo, Cloth, 100; 4to, Paper 16 

The Maid of Sker 8vo, Paper 60 

Tommy Upmore 16rao, Cloth, 60 cts.; Paper, 36 cts. ; 4to, Paper 20 

BRADDON’S (Miss) An Open Verdict 8vo, Paper 36 

A Strange World 8vo, Paper 40 

Asphodel 4to, Paper 16 

Aurora Floyd 8vo, Paper 40 

Barbara; or, Splendid Misery 4to, Paper 16 

Birds of Prey. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Bound to John Company. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Charlotte’s Inheritance 8vo, Paper 36 

Cut by the County 16mo, Paper 26 

Dead Men’s Shoes 8vo, Paper 40 

Dead Sea Fruit. Illustrated 8 vo. Paper 60 

Eleanor’s Victory &vo. Paper 60 

Fenton’s Quest. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Flower and Weed 4to, Paper 10 

Hostages to Fortune. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Ishmael 4to, Paper 20 

John Marchmont’s Legacy 8vo, Paper 60 

Joshua Haggard’s Daughter. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Just as I Am 4to, Paper 16 

Lost for Love. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Mistletoe Bough, 1878. Edited by M. E. Braddon 4to, Paper 16 

Mistletoe Bough, 1879. Edited by M. E. Braddon 4to, Paper 10 

Mistletoe Bough, 1884. Edited by M. E. Braddon 4to, Paper 20 

Mount Royal 4to, Paper 16 

Phantom Fortune 4to, Paper 20 

Publicans and Sinners 8vo, Paper 60 

Strangers and Pilgrims. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Taken at the Flood 8vo, Paper 60 

The Cloven Foot 4to, Paper 16 

The Lovels of Arden. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

To the Bitter End. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Under the Red Flag 4to, Paper 10 

Vixen 4to, Paper 16 

Weavers and Weft 8vo, Paper 26 

Wvllard’s Weird 4to, Paper 20 

BREAD-WINNERS, THE 16mo, Cloth 1 00 

BR0NT^1’S (Charlotte) Jane Eyre. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth 1 00 

4to, Paper, 16 cents ; 8vo, Paper 40 


Harper d: Brothers' Popular Novels. 


3 


^ PBIOR 

BRONTE’S (Charlotte) Shirley. Ill’d. .t2mo, Cloth, $1 00; 8vo, Paper $ 60 

The Professor. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, $1 00; 4to, Paper 20 

Villette. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, $1 00; 8vo, Paper 50 

BRONTE’S (Anne) The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Ill’d... . ]2mo. Cloth 1 00 

BRONTE’S (Emily) Wuthering Heights. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth 1 00 

BULWER’S (Lytton) A Strange Story. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth 1 26 

8vo, Paper 60 

Devereux 8vo, Paper 40 

Ernest Maltravers 8vo, Paper 35 

Godolphin 8vo, Paper 35 

Kenehn Chillingly 12mo, Cloth, $1 25 ; 8vo, Paper 60 

Leila 12mo, Cloth, 100 

Night and Morning 8vo, Paper 60 

Paul Clifford 8vo, Paper 40 

Pausanias the Spartan 12mo, Cloth, '76 cents ; 8vo, Paper 26 

Pelham 8 vo. Paper 40 

Rienzi 8vo, Paper 40 

The Caxtons 12mo, Cloth 126 

The Coming Race 12mo, Cloth, 100; 12mo, Paper 60 

The Last Days of Pompeii 8vo, Paper, 26 cents ; 4to, Paper 16 

The Parisians. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, $1 60; 8vo, Paper 60 

The Pilgrims of the Rhine 8vo, Paper 20 

What will He do with it? 8vo, Paper *76 

Zanoni 8vo, Paper 36 

COLLINS’S (Wilkie) Novels. Ill’d Library Edition. 12mo, Cloth, per vol. 1 26 
After Dark, and Other Stores. — Antonina. — Armadale. — Basil. — 
Hide-and-Seek. — Man and Wife. — My Miscellanies. — No Name. 

— Poor Miss Finch. — The Dead Secret. — The Law and the Lady, 
-j^he Moonstone. — The New Magdalen. — The Queen of Hearts. 

— The Two Destinies. — The Woman in White. 


Armadale. 


No Name. 


Poor Miss Finch. Illustrated 8vo, Cloth, 

The Law and the Lady. Illustrated 

^he Moonstone. Illustrated 


10 ; 


The Two Destinies. II' 
The Woman in White. 



40 


60 

; 4to, Paper 

20 


20 

32mo, Paper 

26 


60 

32mo, Paper 

20 

8 VO, Paper 

60 


50 


60 


30 


36 


60 


26 


16 


20 


20 


80 


30 


4 


Harper & Brothers^ Popular Novels. 


CRAIK’S (Miss G. M.) Sydney 4to, Paper | 16 

Sylvia’s Choice 8vo, Paper 30 

Two Women 4to, Paper 16 

DICKENS’S (Charles) Works. Household Edition. Illustrated. 8vo. 

Set of 16 vols., Cloth, in bpx 22 00 


^ k. Tale of Two Cities.Paper $ 60 
, Cloth 1 00 

Barnaby Rudge Paper 

/ 


1 00 
Cloth 1 60 
00 


Bleak House Paper 1 

Cloth 1 60 
Christmas Stories. ...Paper 1 00 
Cloth 1 60 
l)avid Copperfield. ..Paper 1 00 
Cloth 1 60 

Dombey and Son Paper 1 00 

Cloth 1 60 


Great Expectations., . Paper 1 00 
Cloth 1 60 

Little Dorrit Paper 1 00 

^ Cloth 1 60 

Martin Chuzzlewit.... Paper 1 00 


Martin Chuzzlewit Cloth 1 60 

Nicholas Nickleby Paper 1 00 

^ Cloth 1 60 

Oliver Twist Paper 60 

Cloth 1 00 

Our Mutual Friend Paper 1 00 

Cloth 1 60 

Pickwick Papers Paper 1 00 

Cloth 1 60 

Pictures from Italy, Sketches by 
Boz, American Notes ...Paper 1 00 


Cloth 1 60 


The Old Curiosity Shop. ..Paper *76 
Cloth 1 26 

Uncommercial Traveller, Hard 
Times, Edwin Drood.. .Paper 1 00 
Cloth 1 60 

Pickwick Papers 4to, Paper 20 

The Mudfog Papers, &c 4to, Paper 10 

"Mystery of Edwin Drood. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 26 

Hard Times 8vo, Paper 26 

Mrs. Lirriper’s Legacy 8vo, Paper 10 

DE MILLE’S A Castle in Spain. Ill’d....8vo, Cloth, $1 00; 8vo, Paper 60 

Cord and Creese. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

The American Baron. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

The Cryptogram. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 76 

The Dodge Club. Illustrated. ...8vo, Paper, 60 cents ; 8vo, Cloth 1 10 

The Living Link. Illustrated....8vo, Paper, 60 cents ; 8 vo. Cloth 1 10 

DISRAELI’S (Earl of Beaconsfield) Endymion 4to, Paper 16 

The Young Duke 12mo, Cloth, $1 60; 4to, Paper 16 

ELIOT’S (George) Works. Lib. Ed. 12 vols. Ill’d...l2mo, Cl., per vol. 1 26 

Popular Edition. 12 vols. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, per vol. 76 

Adam Bede. — Daniel Deronda, 2 vols. — Essays and Leaves from a 
Note-Book. — Felix Holt, the Radical. — Middlemarch, 2 vols. — 
Romola. — Scenes of Clerical Life, and Silas Marner. — The Mill 
on the Floss. — Poems : with Brother Jacob and The Lifted Veil. 
Fireside Edition, Containing the above in 6 vols, {Sold only in 

Sets.) 12mo, Cloth 7 60 

Adam Bede. Illustrated 4to, Paper 26 

Amos Barton 32mo, Paper 20 

Brother Jacob. — The Lifted Veil 32mo, Paper 20 

Daniel Deronda 8 vo. Paper 60 

Felix Holt, the Radical 8vo, Paper 60 

Janet’s Repentance 32mo, Paper 20 


Harper c& Brothers' Popular Novels. 


o 


ELIOT’S (George) Middlemarch 

Mr. Gilfil’s Love Story 

Romola. Illustrated 

Silas Marner 

Scenes of Clerical Life 

The Mill on the Floss 

EDWARDS’S (A. B.) Barbara’s History 

Debenham’s Vow. Illustrated 

Half a Million of Money 

Lord Brackenbury 

Miss Carew 

My Brother’s Wife 

EDWARDS’S (M. B.) Disarmed 

Exchange No Robbery 

Kitty 

Pearla 

The Flower of Doom, and Other Stories 

FARJEON’S An Island Pearl. Illustrated 

At the Sign of the Silver Flagon 

Blade-o’-Grass. Illustrated 

Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses. Illustrated 

Golden Grain. Illustrated 

Great Porter Square 

Jessie Trim 

Joshua Marvel 

Love’s Harvest 

Love’s Victory 

Shadows on the Snow. Illustrated 

The Bells of Penraven 

The Duchess of Rosemary Lane 

The King of No-Land. Illustrated 

GASKELL’S (Mrs.) Cousin Phillis 

Cranford 

Mary Barton 8vo, Paper, 40 cents ; 

Moorland Cottage 

My Lady Ludlow 

Right at Last, &c 

Sylvia’s Lovers 

Wives and Daughters. Illustrated 

GIBBON’S (C.) A Hard Knot 

A Heart’s Problem 

By Mead and Stream 

For Lack of Gold 

For the King 

Heart’s Delight 

In Honor Bound 

Of High Degree 

Robin Gray 

Queen of the Meadow 


PBIOX 

.32mo, Paper 

20 


60 

.12mo, Paper 

20 


60 


60 


60 


60 


60 


16 


36 


26 


16 


15 


36 


20 

16mo, Paper 

26 


30 


26 


30 


36 


36 


20 


35 


40 


20 


20 


30 


10 


36 


26 


20 

.16mo, Cloth 1 

26 

4to, Paper 

20 

, 18mo, Cloth 

75 

20 

.12mo, Cloth 1 

60 



40 


60 

12mo, Paper 

26 


10 


20 


36 


80 


20 


35 


20 


86 


16 


6 


Harper c& Brothers' Popular Novels. 


PSIOB 

GIBBON’S (C.) The Braes of Yarrow 4to, Paper $ 20 

The Golden Shaft 4to, Paper 20 

HARDY’S (Thos.) Fellow-Townsmen 32ino, Paper 20 

A Laodicean. Illustrated 4to, Paper 20 

Romantic Adventures of a Milkmaid 4to, Paper 10 

HARRISON’S (Mrs.) Golden Rod 32mo, Paper 25 

Helen Troy 16mo, Cloth 1 00 

HAY’S (M. C.) A Dark Inheritance.... 82mo, Paper 15 

A Shadow on the Threshold 32mo, Paper 20 

Among the Ruins, and Other Stories. 4to, Paper 16 

At the Seaside, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 16 

Back to the Old Home 32mo, Paper 20 

Bid Me Discourse 4to, Paper 10 

Dorothy’s Venture 4to, Paper 16 

For Her Dear Sake 4to, Paper 16 

Hidden Perils 8vo, Paper 26 

Into the Shade, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 16 

Lady Carmichael’s Will 32mo, Paper 16 

Lester’s Secret 4to, Paper 20 

Missing 32mo, Paper 20 

My First Offer, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 16 

Nora’s Love Test 8vo, Paper 26 

Old Myddelton’s Money 8vo, Paper 26 

Reaping the Whirlwind 32mo, Paper 20 

The Arundel Motto 8vo, Paper 26 

The Sorrow of a Secret 32mo, Paper 16 

The Squire’s Legacy 8vo, Paper 26 

Under Life’s Key, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 16 

Victor and Vanquished 8vo, Paper 26 

HOEY’S (Mrs. C.) A Golden Sorrow 8vo, Paper 40 

All or Nothing 4to, Paper 16 

Kate Cronin’s Dowry 32mo, Paper 16 

The Blossoming of an Aloe 8vo, Paper 30 

The Lover’s Creed 4to, Paper 20 

The Question of Cain 4to, Paper 20 

HUGO’S (Victor) Ninety-Three. Ill’d. 12mo, Cloth, $1 60 ; 8vo, Paper 25 

The Toilers of the Sea. Ill’d 8vo, Cloth, 1 60 ; 8vo, Paper 60 

JAMES’S (Henry, Jun.) Daisy Miller 82mo, Paper 20 

An International Episode 82mo, Paper 20 

Diary of a Man of Fifty, and A Bundle of Letters 32mo, Paper 25 

The four ahove-mention&i works in one volume 4to, Paper 25 

Washington Square. Illustrated 16mo, Cloth 1 25 

JOHNSTON’S (R. M.) Dukesborough Tales. Illustrated 4to, Paper 25 

Old Mark Langston 16mo, Cloth 1 00 

LANG’S (Mrs.) Dissolving Views... 16mo, Cloth, 60 cents ; 16mo, Paper 35 

LAWRENCE’S (G. A.) Anteros 8vo, Paper 40 

Brakespeare 8 vo, Paper 40 

Breaking a Butterfly 8vo, Paper 35 

Guy Livingstone 12mo, Cloth, $1 60 ; 4to, Paper 10 


1 


Harper & Brothers' Popular Novels. 


LAWRENCE’S (G. A.) Hagarene 8vo, Paper $ 36 

Maurice Dering 8vo, Paper 26 

Sans Merci 8vo, Paper 36 

Sword and Gown 8vo, Paper 20 

LEVER’S (Charles) A Day’s Ride 8vo, Paper 40 

Barrington 8vo, Paper 40 

Gerald Fitzgerald 8vo, Paper 40 

Lord Kilgobbin. Illustrated 8vo, Cloth, $1 00 ; 8vo, Paper 60 

One of Them 8vo, Paper 60 

Roland Cashel. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 75 

Sir Brook Fosbrooke 8vo, Paper 60 

Sir Jasper Carew 8vo, Paper 60 

That Boy of Norcott’s. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 26 

The Bramleighs of Bishop’s Folly 8vo, Paper 60 

The Daltons 8vo, Paper 76 

The Fortunes of Glencore 8vo, Paper 60 

The Martins of Cro’ Martin 8vo, Paper 60 

Tony Butler 8 vo, Paper 60 

LILLIE’S (Mrs. L. C.) Prudence. Ill’d. 16mo, Cl., 90 cts. ; 16ino, Paper 60 

McCarthy’s (Justln) Comet of a Season 4to, Paper 20 

Donna Quixote 4to, Paper 16 

Maid of Athens 4to, Paper 20 

My Enemy’s Daughter. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

The Commander’s Statue 32mo, Paper 16 

The Waterdale Neighbors 8vo, Paper 86 

MACDONALD’S (George) Alec Forbes 8vo, Paper 60 

Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood 12mo, Cloth 1 26 

Donal Grant 4to, Paper 20 

Guild Court 8vo, Paper 40 

Warlock o’ Glen warlock 4to, Paper 20 

Weighed and Wanting 4to, Paper 20 

MULOCK’S (Miss) A Brave Lady. Ill’d. 12mo, CL, 90 cents. ; 8vo, Paper 60 

Agatha’s Husband. Hl’d 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 8vo, Paper 36 

A Legacy 12mo, Cloth 90 

A Life for a Life 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 8vo, Paper 40 

A Noble Life 12mo, Cloth 90 

Avillion, and Other Tales .. 8vo, Paper 60 

Christian’s Mistake 12mo, Cloth 90 

Hannah. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 8vo, Paper 36 

Head of the Family. Ill’d 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 8 vo. Paper 60 


John Halifax, Gentleman. Hlustrated 8vo, Paper 60 


12mo, Cloth, 90 cents; 4to, Paper 16 

Miss Tommy 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents; 12mo, Paper 60 

Mistress and Maid 1 2mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 8vo, Paper 80 

My Mother and I. Illustrated.. 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents; 8 vo. Paper 40 

Nothing New 8vo, Paper 80 

Ogilvies. Hlustrated 12ino, Cloth, 90 cents; 8vo, Paper 36 


8 


Harper <& Brothers' Popular Novels. 


MULOCK’S (Miss) Olive. Ill’d 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 8vo, Paper $ 

The Laurel Bush. Ill’d 12nio, Cloth, 90 cents; 8vo, Paper 

The Woman’s Kingdom. Ill’d. . . 12mo, Cloth, 90 cts. ; 8vo, Paper 

Two Marriages 12mo, Cloth 

Unkind Word, and Other Stories 12mo, Cloth 

Young Mrs. Jardine 12mo, Cloth, $1 26; 4to, Paper 

MURRAY’S (D. C.) A Life’s Atonement 4to, Paper 

A Model Father 4to, Paper 

By the Gate of the Sea 4to, Paper, 16 cents; 12mo, Paper 

Hearts 4to, Paper 

The Way of the World 4to, Paper 

Val Strange 4to, Paper 

Adrian Vidal. Illustrated 4to, Paper 

NORRIS’S (W. E.) A Man of His Word, &c 4to, Paper 

Heaps of Money 8vo, Paper 

Mademoiselle de Mersac 4to, Paper 

Matrimony 4to, Paper 

No New Thing 4to, Paper 

That Terrible Man 12mo, Paper 

Thirlby Hall. Illustrated 4to, Paper 

OLIPH ANT’S (Laurence) Altiora Peto . 4to, Paper, 20 cts. ; 1 6mo, Paper 

Piccadilly 16mo, Paper 

OLIPHANT’S (Mlrs.) Agnes 8vo, Paper 

A Son of the Soil 8vo, Paper 

Athelings 8vo, Paper 

Brownlows 8vo, Paper 

CaritA Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

Chronicles of Carlingford 8vo, Paper 

Days of My Life 12mo, Cloth 

For Love and Life 8vo, Paper 

Harry Joscelyn 4to, Paper 

He That Will Not when He May 4to, Paper 

Hester 4to, Paper 

Innocent. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

It was a Lover and His Lass 4to, Paper 

Lady Jane 4to, Paper 

Lucy Crofton 12mo, Cloth 

Madam 16mo, Cloth, 76 cents; 4to, Paper 

Madonna Mary 8vo, Paper 

Miss Marjoribanks 8vo, Paper 

Mrs. Arthur 8vo, Paper 

Ombra 8vo, Paper 

Phoebe, Junior. 8vo, Paper 

Sir Tom 4to, Paper 

Squire Arden 8vo, Paper 

The Curate in Charge 8vo, Paper 

The Fugitives 4to, Paper 

The Greatest Heiress in England 4to, Paper 

The Ladies Lindores 16mo, Clotii, $1 00; 4to, Paper 


36 

25 
60 
90 
90 
10 
20 
10 
16 
20 
20 
20 

26 
20 
16 
20 
20 
26 

25 

26 
20 
26 
60 
50 
60 
60 
60 
60 
60 
60 
20 
20 
20 
60 
20 
10 
60 
25 
60 
60 
40 
60 
35 
20 
60 
20 
10 
10 
20 


Harper <£’ Brothers' Popular Novels. 


9 


OLIPHANT’S (Mrs.) The Laird of Norlaw 12mo, Cloth ^ 

The Last of the Mortimers 12mo, Cloth 

The Primrose Path 8vo, Paper 

The Story of Valentine and his Brother 8vo, Paper 

The Wizard’s Son 4to, Paper 

Within the Precincts 4to, Paper 

Young Musgrave 8vo, 'Paper 

PAYN’S (James) A Beggar on Horseback 8vo, Paper 

A Confidential Agent 4to, Paper 

A Grape from a Thorn 4to, Paper 

A Woman’s Vengeance 8vo, Paper 

At Her Mercy 8vo, Paper 

Bred in the Bone 8vo, Paper 

By Proxy 8vo, Paper 

Carlyon’s Year 8vo, Paper 

For Cash Only 4to, Paper 

Found Dead 8vo, Paper 

From Exile 4to, Paper 

Gwendoline’s Harvest 8vo, Paper 

Halves 8vo, Paper 

High Spirits 4to, Paper 

Kit, Illustrated : 4to, Paper 

Less Black than We’re Painted 8vo, Paper 

Murphy’s Master 8vo, Paper 

One of the Family 8vo, Paper 

The Best of Husbands 8vo, Paper 

The Canon’s Ward. Illustrated 4to, Paper 

The Talk of the Town... 4to, Paper 

Thicker than Water 16mo, Cloth, $1 00; 4to, Paper 

Under One Roof 4to, Paper 

Walter’s Word 8vo, Paper 

What He Cost Her 8vo, Paper 

Won — Not Wooed 8vo, Paper 

READE’S Novels: Household Edition. Ill’d 12mo, Cloth, per vol. 


A Simpleton and W andering Heir. 
''a. Terrible Temptation. 

A Woman-Hater. 

/Foul Play. 

Good Stories. 

Griffith Gaunt, 

^ard Cash. 


PBIOB 

G 60 

1 60 
60 
60 
26 
16 
40 
36 
16 
20 
36 
30 
40 
36 
26 
20 
26 
16 
26 
30 
16 
20 
36 
20 
26 
26 
26 
20 
20 
16 
60 
40 
30 

1 00 


It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
Mjove me Little, Love me Long, 
Peg Woffington, Christie John- 
stone, &c. 

Put Yourself in His Place. 

The Cloister and the Hearth. 
White Lies. 


A Perilous Secret... 12 mo. Cl,, 76 cts. ; 4to, Pap., 20 cts. ; 16mo, Pap, 

A Hero and a Martyr 8vo, Paper 

A Simpleton 8vo, Paper 

A Terrible Temptation. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 

A Woman-Hater. Ill’d.. 8vo, Paper, 30 cents ; 12mo, Paper 

-Foul Play 8vo, Paper 

Good Stories of Man and Other Animals. Illustrated... 4to, Paper 
Griffith Gaunt. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 


40 

16 

30 

26 

20 

30 

20 

30 


10 


Harper dt Brothers* Popular Novels. 


. PEIOE 

READE’S (Charles)^ard Cash. Illustrated 8vo, Paper $ 35 

It is Never Too Late to Mend 8vo, Paper 36 

Jack of all Trades 16mo, Paper 16 

/liove Me Little, Love Me Long 8vo, Paper 30 

Multum in Parvo. Illustrated 4to, Paper 16 

Peg Woffington, &c 8vo, Paper 36 

Put Yourself in His Place. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 86 

The Cloister and the Hearth 8vo, Paper 35 

The Coming Man 32mo, Paper 20 

The Jilt 32mo, Paper 20 

The Picture 16mo, Paper 16 

The Wandering Heir. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 20 

White Lies 8vo, Paper 30 

ROBINSON’S (F. W.) A Bridge of Glass 8vo, Paper 30 

A Fair Maid 4to, Paper 20 

A Girl’s Romance, and Other Stories 8vo, Paper 30 

As Long as She Lived 8vo, Paper 60 

Carry’s Confession 8vo, Paper 60 

Christie’s Faith 12mo, Cloth 1 '76 

Coward Conscience 4to, Paper 15 

Her Face was Her Fortune 8vo, Paper 40 

Lazarus in London 4to, Paper 20 

Little Kate Kirby. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Mattie: a Stray 8vo, Paper 40 

No Man’s Friend 8vo, Paper 60 

Othello the Second 32mo, Paper 20 

Poor Humanity 8vo, Paper 60 

PoorZeph! 32mo, Paper 20 

Romance on Four Wheels 8vo, Paper 16 

Second-Cousin Sarah. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

Stern Necessity 8vo, Paper 40 

The Barmaid at Battleton 32rao, Paper 16 

The Black Speck 4to, Paper 10 

The Hands of Justice 4to, Paper 20 

The Man She Cared For 4to, Paper 20 

The Romance of a Back Street 32mo, Paper 18 

> True to Herself 8vo, Paper 60 

'^RTJS^ELL’S (W. Clark) Auld Lang Syne 4to, Paper 10 

Sailor’s Sweetheart 4to, Paper 16 

-A Sea Queen 16mo, Cloth, $1 00; 4to, Paper 20 

“An Ocean Free Lance 4to, Paper 20 

'Jack’s Courtship 16mo, Cloth, 1 00; 4to, Paper 26 

■ John Holdsworth, Chief Mate 4to, Paper 20 

"Little Loo 4to, Paper 20 

'My Watch Below 4to, Paper 20 

'On the Fo’k’sle Head 4to, Paper 16 

Round the Galley Fire 4to, Paper 16 


' Wreck of the “Grosvenor” 8vo, Paper, 30 cents; 4to, Paper 16 


Harper db Brothers' Popular Novels. 


11 


SCOTT’S Novels. See Waverley Novels. 

SHERWOOD’S (Mrs. John) A Transplanted Rose 12mo, Cloth $1 00 

TABOR’S (Eliza) Eglantine 8vo, Paper 40 

Hope Meredith 8vo, Paper 35 

Jeanie’s Quiet Life 8vo, Paper 30 

Little Miss Primrose 4to, Paper 15 

Meta’s Faith 8vo, Paper 35 

The Blue Ribbon 8vo, Paper 40 

The Last of Her Line 4to, Paper 15 

The Senior Songman 4to, Paper 20 

THACKERAY’S (Miss) Bluebeard’s Keys 8vo, Paper 35 

Da Capo 32mo, Paper 20 

Miscellaneous Works .8vo, Paper 90 

Miss Angel 8vo, Paper 60 

Miss Williamson’s Divagations 4to, Paper 16 

Old Kensington. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

THACKERAY’S (W. M.) Denis Duval. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 26 

Henry Esmond, and Lovel the Widower. 12 Ill’s 8vo, Paper 60 

Henry Esmond 8vo, Pa., 60 cents ; 4to, Paper 16 

Lovel the Widower 8vo, Paper 20 

Pendennis. 179 Illustrations 8vo, Paper 76 

The Adventures of Philip. 64 Illustrations 8vo, Paper 60 

The Great Hoggarty Diamond 8vo, Paper 20 

The Newcomes. 162 Illustrations 8vo, Paper 90 

The Virginians. 160 Illustrations 8vo, Paper 90 

Vanity Fair. 32 Illustrations 8vo, Paper 80 

THACKERAY’S Works. Illustrated...... 12mo, Cloth, per vol. 1 26 

.-/Vanity Fair. — Pendennis.— 4he Newcomes. — The Virgin- 
ians. — Philip. — Esmond, and Lovel the Widower. 6 vols. Mis- 
cellaneous: Barry Lyndon, Hoggarty Diamond, &c. — Paris and 
Irish Sketch-Books, &c. — Book of Snobs, Sketches, &c. — Four 
Georges, English Humorists, Roundabout Papers, &c. — Catharine, 

&c. 6 vols. 

TOWNSEND’S (G. A.) The Entailed Hat 16mo, Cloth 1 60 

TROLLOPE’S (Anthony) An Eye for an Eye 4to, Paper 10 

An Old Man’s Love 4to, Paper 16 

Ayala’s Angel 4to, Paper 20 

Cousin Henry 4to, Paper 10 

Doctor Thorne 12mo, Cloth 1 60 

Doctor Wortle’s School 4to, Paper 16 

Framley Parsonage 4to, Paper 15 

Harry Eeathcote of Gangoil. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 20 

He Knew He was Right. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 80 

Is He Popenjoy? 4to, Paper 20 

John Caldigate 4to, Paper 16 

Kept in the Dark 4to, Paper 15 

Lady Anna 8vo, Paper 30 

Marion Fay. Illustrated 4to, Paper 20 

Phineas Redu.x. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 76 


12 


Harper Brothers' Popular Novels. 


TROLLOPE’S (Anthony) Rachel Ray 8vo, Paper $ 35 

Ralph the Heir. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 76 

Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 36 

The American Senator 8vo, Paper 50 

The Belton Estate 8vo, Paper 36 

The Bertrams 4to, Paper 16 

The Duke’s Children 4to, Paper 20 

The Eustace Diamonds, Illustrated 8vo, Paper 80 

The Fixed Period 4to, Paper 15 

The Golden Lion of Granpere. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 40 

The Lady of Launay 32mo, Paper 20 

The Last Chronicle of Barset. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 90 

The Prime Minister 8vo, Paper 60 

The Small House at Allington. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 76 

The Vicar of Bullhampton. Illustrated 8 vo, Paper 80 

The Warden, and Barchester Towers 8vo, Paper 60 

The Way We Live Now. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 90 

Thompson Hall. Illustrated 32mo, Paper 20 

Why Frau Frohman Raised her Prices, &c 4to, Paper 10 

(Frances E.) Among Aliens. Illustrated 4to, Paper 15 

Anne Furness 8vo, Paper 60 

Like Ships Upon the Sea 4to, Paper 20 

Mabel’s Progress 8 vo. Paper 40 

The Sacristan’s Household. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 60 

^ Veronica 8vo, Paper 60 

WALLACE’S (Lew) Ben-Hur 16mo, Cloth 1 60 

WAVERLEY NOVELS. 12mo. With 2000 Illustrations. 

Thistle Edition 48 Vols., Green Cloth, per vol. 1 00 

Complete Sets, Half Morocco, Gilt Tops 72 00 

Holtrood Edition 48 Vols., Brown Cloth, per vol. 75 

Complete Sets, Half Morocco, Gilt Tops 72 00 

Popular Edition 24 Vols., Green Cloth, per vol. 1 25 

Complete Sets, Half Morocco 64 00 

WAVERLEY NOVELS. 12mo. With 2000 Illustrations. 

Waverley; Guy Mannering; The Antiquary; Rob Roy; Old 
Mortality ; The Heart of Mid-Lothian ; A Legend of Montrose ; 

The Bride of Lammermoor ; The Black Dwarf ; Ivanhoe ; The 
Monastery ; The Abbot ; Kenilworth ; The Pirate ; The Fortunes 
of Nigel ; Peveril of the Peak ; Quentin Durward ; St, Ronan’s 
Well; Redgauntlet; The Betrothed ; The Talisman; Woodstock; 
Chronicles of the Canongate, The Highland Widow, &c. ; The 
Fair Maid of Perth ; Anne of Geierstein ; Count Robert of Paris ; 

Castle Dangerous ; The Surgeon’s Daughter ; Glossary. 

WOOLSON’S (C. F.) Anne. Illustrated by Reinhart 16mo, Cloth 1 26 

For the Major. Illustrated 16mo, Cloth 1 00 

YATES’S (Edmund) Dr. Wainwright’s Patient 8vo, Paper 30 

Kissing the Rod 8vo, Paper 40 

Land at Last 8vo, Paper 40 

PiinAr 


It surpasses all its predecessors . — N. Y. Tribune. 



A Dictionary of the English Language, Pronouncing, Etymological, 
and Explanatory, Embracing Scientific and Other Terms, Numer- 
ous Familiar Terms, and a Copious Selection of Old English 
Words. By the Rev. James Stormonth. The Pronunciation 
Carefully Revised by the Rev. P. H. Phelp, M.A. pp. 1248. 
4to, Cloth, f 6 00 ; Half Roan, $7 00 ; Sheep, $7 50. 

Also in Harper’s Franklin Square Library, in Twenty- 
three Parts. 4to, Paper, 25 cents each Part. jMuslin covers for 
binding supplied by the publishers on receipt of 50 cents. 

As regards thoroughness of etymological research and breadth of modern inclusion, 
Stormonth*s new dictionary surpasses all its predecessors. * In fact, Stbrmonth’s 
Dictionary possesses merits so many and conspicuous that it can hardly fail to estab- 
lish itself as a standard and a favorite. — N. T. Tribune. 

This may serve in great measure the purposes of an English cyclopaedia. It gives 
lucid and succinct definitions of the technical terms in science and art, in law and 
medicine. We have the explanation of words and phrases that puzzle most people, 
showing wonderfully comprehensive and out-of the-way research. We need only add 
that the Dictionary appears in all its departments to have been brought down to meet 
the latest demands of the day, and that it is admirably printed. — Times., London. 

A most valuable addition to the library of the scholar and of the general reader. 
It can have for the present no possible rival. — Boston Post. 

It has the bones and sinews of the grand dictionary of the future. * * * An invalu- 
able library book. — Ecclesiastical Gazette., London. 

A work which is certainly without a rival, all things considered, among the dic- 
tionaries of our language. The peculiarity of the work is that it is equally well adapt- 
! ed to the uses of the man of business, who demands compactness and ease of reference, 
i and to those of the most exigent scholar. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

As compared with our standard dictionaries, it is better in type, richer in its vocab- 
ulary, and happier in arrangement. Its system of grouping is admirable. * He 
who possesses this dictionary will enjoy and use it, and its bulk is not so great as to 
make use of it a terror. — Christian Advocate, N. Y. 

A well-planned and carefully executed work, which has decided merits of its own, 
and for which there is a place not filled by any of its rivals.— W. Y. Sun. 

A work of sterling value. It has received from all quarters the highest commenda- 
tion. — Lutheran Observer, Philadelphia. 

A trustworthy, truly scholarly dictionary of our English language. — Christian Intel- 
ligencer, N. Y, 

The issue of Stormonth’s great English dictionary is meeting with a hearty wel- 
come everywhere. — Boston Transcript. 

’ A critical and accurate dictionary, the embodiment of good scholarship and the 
result of modern researches. Compression and clearness are its external evidences, 

, and it offers a favorable comparison with the best dictionaries in use, while it holds an 
j unrivalled place in bringing forth the result of modern philological criticism. — Boston 
Journal. 

Full, complete, and accurate, including all the latest words, and giving all their 
' derivatives and correlatives. The definitions are short, but plain, the method of mak- 
( ing pronunciation very simple, and the arrangement such as to give the best results 
[ in the smallest space. — Philadelphia Inquirer. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

4®=* Hakpek & Bbothers will send the above icork bg mail^jTOStage prepaid^ to any 
part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


HARPER’S BAZAR FOR 1886. 

The new volume of Harper’s Bazar offers a host of brilliant attractions designed to 
interest every member of the family circle. It will continue to combine the choicest 
literature and the linest illustrations with the latest fashions, the most useful house- 
hold knowledge, the best methods of household decoration, the newest usages of social 
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Much attention is paid to art decoration, and exquisite embroidery designs are pub- 
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Wheeler, Miss Dora Wheeler, Mrs. T. W. Dewing, the South Kensington Royal School of 
Art Needlework, and other distinguished sources. 

The literary excellence of Harper’s Bazar is beyond dispute. Its serial stories are 
by such acknowledged masters of fiction as William Black, Thomas Hardy, Mrs. Lynx 
Linton, F. W. Robinson, W. Clark Hcssell, James Payn, MIssMulock, Miss Braddon, 
etc. Its short stories arc distinguished for their brightness. Its pith}* editorials are 
marked by good sense, and its poems, essays, and other matter are the best of the 
kind. Not a line is ever printed in its columns that could offend the most fastidious 
taste. 

The fine art illustrations of Harper's Bazar, from the best native and foreign artists, 
form a marked feature of the journal, as do the bright humorous cuts and anecdotes 
which have won it the name of the American Punch. 

Numerous novelties are in preparation for the new volume, which will open with a 
brilliantly illustrated story, entitled “The Heir of the Ages,” by the popular novelist, 
James Payn. Other tales will shortly be announced. The vigorous papers, “Women 
and Men,” by Colonel Thomas Wentworth Higginson, will be continued, and no pains 
or cost will be spared to maintain the high standard of the paper, and to make Har- 
per’s Bazar at once the most entertaining and the most useful family journal in ex- 
istence. 


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